Home of the Brave
by Kanuro5
Summary: A seemingly ordinary day in the life of a Maryland National Guardsmen is changed forever as he has to fight for his life in the middle of Baltimore during the Russian invasion of the United States. Facing an enemy that has better training, more manpower, has the element of surprise and has the death of every American on their mind; the Guards must do everything they can to survive.
1. Life on Base

**Day 4 – 1720 hours**

**Corporal Floyd Strife**

**Maryland National Guard **

**Baltimore, Maryland, U.S.A.**

Our tongues were intertwined together. Her warm breath hit the back of my throat. Her tongue firmly wrapped around mine so delicately that it sent tingles down my spine. Both of her hands are on my face, her fingers— so delicate and smooth. My left hand is on her back, and my right hand is placed on her firm, tight ass. I gave her ass a hard squeeze and she inhaled sharply whilst she still held onto my tongue. Her hand then slithered down my pants and softly grasped me on my manhood. We stopped kissing. We just stood there, lost in each other's eyes. She smiled at me and grasped tighter around my crotch.

SPC Fuentes: Ooh, someone's excited.

CPL Strife: Oh wow I didn't even know. Heh-heh, you know it was just so . . .

SPC Fuentes: [_giggles_] Spontaneous?

CPL Strife: Okay then moving on. How can any man not be hard with you on top of them huh? Anyway, you better take some responsibility for this or something.

SPC Fuentes: You want to do it here?

CPL Strife: [_Smirking_] What's wrong with this place?

SPC Fuentes: We're in the women's bathroom stall.

CPL Strife: Hey don't get pissy at me. You dragged me in here. Besides, I know you want to.

SPC Fuentes: [_Leaning in close and seductively whispering into ear_] Oh, and how do you know that?

I gently blew a nice chill breeze into her ear. She inhaled sharply once again as her nails dug into the back of my neck. I then moved my head out and gave her a nice, gentle bite on her left ear lobe. Her exhales turned into moans as I went down from her lobe to the side of her neck. With each passing inch I nibbled just the slightest bit, making sure that I wouldn't leave a hickey. And when I got right to where her neck met her shoulder; she exhaled in an orgasmic moan as she clutched my head tighter into her shoulder. I had her right where I wanted her.

She pushed me back against the back of the toilet and stared at me with her amorous green eyes. A mischievous smirk crept up on the side of her face, and she started feeling up my dick again. But this time, she pulled the zipper down and pulled my dick out. Her velvet soft hand felt so warm as she began to stroke my dick up and down at a slow pace. She stuck her tongue out and slowly licked her lips in a counter-clockwise motion; savoring the little ounces of pleasure she was giving me. .

SPC Fuentes: Does that feel good?

CPL Strife: [_Rhythmically panting from the pleasure_] Hell yeah. That feels so good babe.

SPC Fuentes: [_Smiling_] Then I'll make you feel even better.

She got up off me and told me to jerk myself off as she began to undo the buttons of her pants. She pulled them down and took them off and she teasingly began to pull down her olive drab panties down to her ankles. As she pulled them down, I could see that her pussy juice had seeped through; she was real excited. So she got on top of me and gently grasped my dick and positioned it right under her. She gently slid downwards; and rolled her head back and exhaled in pleasure as the head of my penis went up her warm, moist, snug pussy.

The bathroom door swung wide opened and someone walked in and I swear that the both of us had the biggest heart attack in our lives; and out of all the stalls that she had to stop in front of, it had to be ours. I swear I would have went limp if I wasn't already a quarter inside Carlina. Carlina was too scared to move that only the head of my dick was fully inside her.

PVT Singh: [_Lightly banging on the door_] Hey Carlina.

I cursed to myself. I recognized the voice. It was Carlina's good friend Kelly Singh. I was happy that Carlina was on top of me, so it looked like there was only one person in the stall.

SPC Fuentes: What is it Kelly?

PVT Singh: Good news girl. Kennings cancelled all close order drills for today! Come on and hurry up in there! Let's hit the town or something.

SPC Fuentes: Alright thanks Kelly. We'll be right out.

She blew it.

PVT Singh: Alright, I'll be– wait? We?!

SPC Fuentes: Uh . . .

PVT Singh: Carlina, what the hell are you talkin' about? Wait . . . Strife! Strife come out of there now!

Damn. I couldn't believe Carlina just did that. I mean really, how hard is it to not say something that stupid? I just shook my head in disappointment at Carlina. She just gave me a very sheepish look. The moment she got up off me and my dick head exited her warm vagina, my mood turned sour.

CPL Strife: [_Disappointedly_] Dumbass.

SPC Fuentes: Shut up.

We stood up and we quickly scrambled to get our clothes back to looking presentable. After about a good minute and a half, we got out of the bathroom, too embarrassed to look up at Singh. Goddamn, I could feel the hate coming from Singh's eyes cutting through me like a knife.

PVT Singh: What the fuck is wrong with you two? In the women's head? A public facility?!

SPC Fuentes: Kelly we are so sorry. It was just . . .

CPL Strife: Spontaneous. [_Fuentes playfully elbowed him on his arm_]

PVT Singh: You guys could have been caught! What then?!

CPL Strife: We could have been investigated, possibly court martialed, blah, blah, blah! Yeah hey thanks for the giant pep talk mom. Hey when's dinner ready?

PVT Singh: Strife! You are the most complete selfish, sexist, goddamn ignorant motherfucker in all the planes of existence!

CPL Strife: Aw, you say that like it's a bad thing.

Carlina chuckled and smiled at me. Singh just gave me "the bird". I don't think that you know, but towards me, Private Kelly Singh is a **major Alpha bitch**. I don't know why or when, but somehow she started hating me, despite us being in the same company. So in retaliation of her constant bitchiness, I love to piss her off. And just to drive home the point, I grabbed Carlina by the ass and bent her over and gave her a kiss that would put the famous "V-J Day Kiss" to shame.

PVT Singh: Strife you're a fucking asshole!

CPL Strife: Hey! That's Corporal Asshole to you, private.

Singh just shrieked in anger. She poked her head out of the bathroom door.

PVT Singh: Coast is clear. Come on.

CPL Strife: Ladies first.

SPC Fuentes: [_Sultrily_] Yeah right, you just wanna stare at my ass.

CPL Strife: Well it's an ass worth staring at.

PVT Singh: Oh my God. Hurry up before I puke!

Both of the girls went out of the bathroom and cautioned me out. As soon as I got out, a few officers began walking down the hall.

PVT Singh: [_Annoyed_] Well we gotta get going.

SPC Fuentes: [_Giggling_] Catch ya later Corporal.

CPL Strife: Yeah, see ya Specialist.

Carlina gave me her classic smile. Her smoldering green eyes were entrancing with her face glowing like a low, warm flame. She leaned forward and with a wonderful smirk, she mouthed to me, "Maybe next time." She winked to me as Singh pulled her away and left me in the hall. I decided it was the best time to go back to the barracks. But once I made that first step, I doubled over in pain. That's right, you guessed it. Because of fucking Singh; I got the horrible numbing and twisting sensation of blue-balls. I tried my best to walk it off, but of course all of us guys know that you can't walk off blue-balls. If only Singh gave me and Carlina 25 more minutes . . .

Specialist Carlina Fuentes, 24 years old, born in El Paso, Texas and she moved to Maryland when she was 15. She's about 5'8 and has dark ,chestnut hair that she usually keeps in a sock bun like most women soldiers. Like I said before, she has these rare entrancing emerald green eyes and teeth as white as snow. Cliché as that sounds, she really does have a gorgeous smile.

She came to our unit a few days after we transitioned back stateside. I didn't really speak to her at all at first. One day we were paired off in a work detail, can't remember what we did but we made small talk about it. Then we just hit it off the bat. I was in 1st platoon while she was in 3rd platoon, but we began to talk to each other more and more. In less than a few weeks, we became very good friends.

Later during the week, we received our passes to leave the base; so our friends went out to see an Orioles game and we came along too. By then we had started doing some innocent flirting with each other. But the flirts got more sexual as time went on, but we were still at the friend zone. I then noticed that I have grown some feelings for her. Believe me, you would too if you just took a look at her.

Carlina lost her phone after the game in the parking lot so I helped her look for it. When we found it, we were alone so I decided "to hell with it" and was getting ready to kiss her. To my surprise, she kissed me first. Ever since then, we've been together in secret; only Singh and my friend Richard Trapp caught on to our little love affair.

I can talk all day about Carlina, but that's not what's important right now. Anyway, I finally wobbled back into the Golf Company barracks. Walking all that way with your balls feeling like their being crushed in a vise felt painful than a motherfucker. But once I entered the barracks, I did my best to suck up the pain and grudgingly tried to walk upright.

Right when I entered my platoon hall, the whole platoon was standing in the hallway. Sergeant First Class Powell, our platoon sergeant, was in the middle of the hall talking to the platoon with a short guy in the middle that I haven't seen before. When the hall door slammed, the whole platoon looked at me. Powell just glared at me.

SFC Powell: Corporal Strife, glad you fucking arrived, where the hell have you been?

I couldn't think of an excuse, so I told him the truth.

CPL Strife: Uh . . . I was cock-blocked on the toilet Sergeant.

The whole platoon began to laugh except Powell and Richard Trapp who just shook his head, since he knew exactly what I was talking about.

SFC Powell: Alright everyone, quiet down. Get over here Strife. I want you to meet Private Gallen, he just came in today. And since you were the last one here, Gallen will be assigned to your squad. And you Strife will personally look after him. Gallen, wherever you go, make sure it's no more than three feet away from Corporal Strife here. That's an order.

PVT Gallen: Yes Sergeant!

My whole squad groaned out loud, everyone else laughed. When I took a look at this kid, oh God I wanted to bash my head in with a can opener. Gallen was a real scrawny ass kid; he was 18 but had the face of a 14 year old that just grew a pubic hair. Baby faced, 5'7 frame, and a face that literally screamed "Virgin". I did an inner face palm in my head. I could not believe that I was stuck with this freakin' kid.

SFC Powell: Alright, pipe down. Listen, all drills and details have been cancelled until further notice.

Everyone cheered.

SFC Powell: Along with passes and leaves.

Everyone booed.

SFC Powell: Yeah I know, but hey listen, these are the announcements: If anyone has a problem with bowel movements go see Doc Moss at sick bay. We all know of that little virus that's happening in Baltimore. The Colonel intends to visit he barracks this Sunday, so you all need to call in Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah-Blah . . .

I zoned out. You should be thanking me. I just saved you about 7 minutes worth of absolute **bullshit.** Now back to my story, after Powell finished his overly dry monologue, he dismissed the platoon meeting and left the hall. Everyone else either went back to their rooms or headed over to the lounge to watch some TV. Gallen stood in front of me, wide-eyed and in awe. He then began saluting me like a retard.

PVT Gallen: Private Wesley Gallen reporting for duty Corporal!

Everyone who saw that began chuckling and laughing. This was the National Guards not Special fucking Forces. He disgusted me.

CPL Strife: Alright first off, calm the fuck down. This is the Guards; we're not a special British Task Force that works directly under the Queen. Second, stick out your chest when you talk so you won't be taken as a joke. Third, you salute officers, not NCOs, everyone knows that! Fourth, stop with the fucking smiling! Fifth, don't act like a goddamn Boy Scout, it's—

PVT Gallen:[_Meekly_] Actually, I was an Eagle Scout.

CPL Strife: [_Flailing hands in the air sarcastically_] Oh goooood for you! And how was it?! Oh! Guess what? I don't care! Listen, don't try to be a damn Captain America, no one likes that shit.

PVT Gallen: Hey man, I know I'm the new guy, but you don't have to be a dick about it!

CPL Strife: No, no, no. For acting like a Green Beret, you are going to stand there and listen to my insults. If you want me to stop, then stop trying your best to act like a goddamn Green Beret! Then maybe, I'll be a tad nicer to you. Anyway private; welcome to Golf Company.

I took the kid around the barracks and gave him the "grand tour" of the base. Unfortunately, he noticed I was walking funny; my blue-balls were still inflicting me.

PVT Gallen: Uh Corporal, are you alright? You seem to be in pain.

CPL Strife: [_Grunting lowly_] No man, I'm fucking cool.

PVT Gallen: You sure? My cousin taught me some things in how to relax someone. You want me to try?

CPL Strife: [_Shocked_] Oh fuck no! I would rather stick my dick in an anthill.

PVT Gallen: What? What did I say wrong?

CPL Strife: Nothing man it's just . . . just shut up man. Hey we're back in the squad room. Go find your bed which is unfortunately next to mine.

PVT Gallen: Thanks, I guess [_Strife relaxes on his bed as Gallen becomes situated with his bed_] So uh, where y-you from?

CPL Strife: [_Disinterested_]Manhattan.

PVT Gallen: Cool, I've been there a few times. Nice city.

CPL Strife: Eh, it's whatever. Once you been there for 18 years, everything is the same.

PVT Gallen: Oh, yeah . . . so why are you with MD's National Guard instead of New York's?

CPL Strife: . . . I went to the University of Maryland back in '09, didn't feel like joining the Guards until 2014. Besides I like Maryland, much quieter than New York.

PVT Gallen: Ah I see . . . so, have you seen any action before?

CPL Strife: Yeah, I served my year and a half in Afghanistan.

PVT Gallen: I thought it was only one weekend a month?

CPL Strife: Welcome to the Army kid.

PVT Gallen: Damn . . . that's, that's bullshit.

CPL Strife: Indeed. Indeed it is.

PVT Gallen: [_Awkwardly_] You . . . did you uh, kill any insurgents?

CPL Strife: Yep. Got two confirmed kills. I only fired my weapon five times in Afghanistan.

PVT Gallen: Really? That's awesome! Hey . . . um, uh . . . soooooo, what's it like to kill someone?

I stopped whatever the hell I was doing on the bed and sat up to look at the kid. His face turned bright red from embarrassment. I could not believe my luck today; I was about to have sex with the sexiest woman on base and then I get interrupted by her bitch of a friend, get the terrible case of blue-balls and now I was playing 20 questions with fucking Mr. Eagle Scout. I did not predict my day to be like this. But one predictable thing about life is its unpredictability. Right there, Trapp bolted into the room.

SGT Trapp: [_Out of breath_] Yo! Everybody! Come into the lounge!

PFC Ormac: Wait what happened?

SGT Trapp: I don't know for sure! Just come on!

CPL Strife: Rich, slow down. What happened?

SGT Trapp: The news said some unidentified aircraft entered the West Coast by the hundreds! Come on everyone into the lounge!

Gallen and I both gazed at each other in unison, somehow wanting to ask each other what's happening, yet unable to think of an answer. We all ran into the lounge where the whole platoon was just watching the TV. Channel 4 News had a map of the West Coast with about 20 red dots moving from Washington State, all the way down to Southern California.

News Reporter: [_To the cameraman_] . . . we seem to be getting some kind of interference or something. [_To the camera_]Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who have just tuned in, Air Traffic Control has just reported a certain number of Unidentified Flying Objects crossing from Alaska into the West Coast of the United States. Although men and women on the ground are seeing no actual sightings of aircraft of any kind. SONAR from the Air Traffic is clearly reporting aircraft entering the West Coast . . .

SPC Cole: [_Jokingly_] Aliens! I knew it!

PFC Nabayo: Aliens?! Are you smoking meth? The hell are you talking about?

SSG Fitz: Damn, what is going on out there?

PVT Gallen: Oh my God! It's probably the Russians!

SPC Cole: The Russians?

PVT Gallen: Yeah, it makes sense! The massacre at that Russian airport was 3 months ago! After that, the Russians absolutely hated us! They probably used that time to prepare to invade!

CPL Boschert: Yeah! What if the new guy is right? What if it is the Russians?

PVT Neely: Fuck! It probably is the Russians!

My gut did a 180 twist inside of me. This wasn't real. It made sense that this would be a Russian invasion. After the massacre in the airport by rogue CIA agents four months ago, America lost most of its support in NATO and the whole world. The only countries that stood with America after that was the U.K., Canada, Germany, France, Italy, Poland, Spain, Japan, Turkey, Czech Republic, Australia, and New Zealand. Everyone else dropped all relations with America. Russia was so furious that they requested all Russian and Russian-Americans living in the U.S. to return back to the "Motherland". About 600,000 people immigrated from U.S. to Russia in the course of 4 months.

SFC Powell: Everyone shut up. It's just some SONAR trouble. That's all it is people.

PVT Zwer: I don't know Sarge, the tube said—

SFC Powell: It's nothing! Nothing's wrong is going on!

The siren went off.

We all just stood there, still as statues. This siren . . . was so damn similar to an air raid siren they used back in World War 2. We heard this on TV, even heard it in some movies and documentaries where bombings against civilians happened. We heard it through the media, but never in real life. I knew the shit had just hit the fan.

The news reporter placed her hand in hear to listen to incoming news. Her face switched to horror in a blink of an eye.

News reporter: Ladies and gentleman we are receiving a breaking news report that something is occurring in New York.

The camera switched to a random New York city; our hearts sank at the sight. The camera was pointed to the sky. Paratroopers, actual paratroopers were descending from the light orange sky. Planes, thousands of them flew over the camera. Paratroopers were actually jumping out of the planes and landed in the streets. Enemy combat helicopters swarmed in the sky, too many to count.

The camera switched to a different camera stationed on a tower. The tower overlooked a massive harbor with hundreds of cruisers, battleships, and submarines emerging from the vast ocean. And here's the real kicker, these fucking foreign ass ships and planes were passing the Statue of Liberty. I dropped my water bottle, it was Manhattan. We were being invaded. My home, Manhattan, New York was being invaded. That's when Corporal Long from G-2 Intelligence came in.

CPL Long: [_Terrified and out of breath_] We're being invaded! It's an invasion! Come on move! We're mobilizing now!


	2. Requiem

Hearing Corporal Long call us to mobilize, we dropped all of our shit and ran back to our rooms, we threw on our Army Combat Uniform and grabbed whatever was deemed as necessary.

PVT Gallen: Oh shit! Shit! This can't be real! It just can't be!

CPL Strife: Gallen just shut up and put your shit on!

To tell you the truth, I was feeling the exact same way Gallen was feeling. I bet you that everyone else was feeling the same way. No one could have predicted that this would actually happen to us Americans; we invade other countries, not the other way around. How the hell could this have happened?

After about 10 minutes, we all finally got all of our gear squared away and ran straight for the armory. All that was on my mind was my family back in Manhattan.

The armory was crowded like a motherfucker. Guardsmen yelling left and right demanding for rifles, shotguns, grenades, anything really.

CPL Strife: 203. Someone pass me a 203!

Eventually someone handed me an M4 with a M203 grenade launcher. The ammo was eventually distributed. We all received the standard ammunition of four magazines in addition to the mag already in the rifle. I also got three M203 grenades along with two frag grenades.

Quartermaster: C'mon! Move it! Find your squad and platoon leader!

I grabbed Gallen and followed the rest of the squad into the staging area where the rest of 1st platoon was. They were crowded around Major McBride who was pointing at a large map of Baltimore. Gallen and I squeezed in a "front-row" seat.

MAJ McBride: Everyone gather round! In the last 30 minutes,reports are coming in all over that an estimate of over a thousand aircraft have entered the East Coast, and brigades of paratroopers are landing in every state from New England to Georgia. We don't know how they got in, but we do know that by their attire and aircraft, they are indeed Russian!

Gallen snapped his head at me with a horrified expression written all over his face. It was an "I told you so" face, but there was no arrogance or of gloating on his face, just plain terror. Everyone else was mumbling to each other. I didn't want to believe this. Why the hell was this happening?

MAJ McBride: [_Pointing his finger to a large scale map of Baltimore_] The Baltimore Police Department is currently engaging paratroopers in every district while evacuating civilians out of the city. The flow of traffic has grinded evacuation by I-83 to halt. Hotel Company and a detachment from the police department are already mobilized and are forming a defensive line at I-83 in Druid Hill Park through the Inner Harbor. We are now holding a fragment of North, West, and South Baltimore.

Lieutenant: [_Surprised_] Druid Hill to Inner Harbor? They already cut off half the city sir?

CPL Strife: How the fuck did they cut off the city so goddamn fast?!

MAJ McBride: Pull yourself together corporal! We will take it back! The Russians have been dropping a constant rate of paratroopers all over Baltimore, but the mass of them have been dropping east of the Harbor. Now—

PVT Gallen: [_Hesitantly_] Excuse me sir, I, uh, was wondering what about the civilians in the Russian held zone?

MAJ McBride: . . . We have reports coming throughout the coast that the Russians are targeting civilians, young and old.

Everyone began murmuring to each other and cursing softly. A backbreaking chill crawled up my spine. Shooting civilians? Our civilians? Our people?! What the fuck?! This can't be happening. No way on God's green Earth could this be real. My folks back in New York, could they be, dead? Why? Why is this happening?!

Specialist: Those motherfuckers . . .

SGT Taye: All of them are going straight to hell!

MAJ McBride: Hey cut the chatter . . . it's not the worst thing right now. We are held to believe that all civilians that are still in the Russian held zone are to be assumed dead.

We all sank our heads down. A little prayer to everyone out there. About over 250,000 people dead, in half an hour.

MAJ McBride: But, we are receiving reports that a huge number of civilians are still pouring out of the Russian zone and crossing the defensive line which leads our Intelligence to believe that some civilians within a mile out of the defensive line can be rescued. 1st platoon, Golf Company; your mission is to extract the civilians out of the Russian zone and bring 'em back to the Harbor where they'll be evac'd out of Baltimore.

LT Reynolds: We're not launching a counterattack sir?

MAJ McBride: [_Sternly_] We only have two companies and a battered city police department, Echo and Foxtrot's ETA is about an hour and 20 minutes out. And we are up against roughly a whole regiment if not a division of paratroopers and we have no armor units at all! We are combat ineffective lieutenant! Our only concern right now is to evac as many civilians as possible and hold the Russians where they stand!

All: Sir yes sir!

MAJ McBride: Alright, get the job done!

LT Reynolds: Yes sir! 1st platoon gather round! We'll ride out in Humvees and move out in squads, one fire team per Humvee, you know the drill! I will be with 2nd squad along with Sergeant Powell. Now listen up Guardsmen, this is our land! This is our soil! Those are our people getting shot goddamn it! We are the Guard! This is our true purpose! To defend our country, from any foreign threat that enters upon our soil! Now let's get out there and kick–

**KRRR-BOOOOM-KRR**

The whole building shook violently. The earth began to shake beneath us and a few pieces of ceiling tile, dust and debris fell on top of us.

MAJ McBride: [_Staring at the ceiling_] What was that?! What the fuck was that?!

Master Sergeant: Sir, we got enemy fast movers making passes over the base!

Staff Sergeant: Sir, the upper deck are reporting several casualties!

MAJ McBride: Fuck! Alexander, get on the radio to see if we can raise any immediate reinforcements! Tell the COs of Echo and Foxtrot to hurry their asses up! Cho, have all doctors dispatch the wounded underground now, I don't want any wounded to be killed off by a damn ceiling tile! And . . . [_Noticing Reynolds standing around in a daze_] Reynolds! What the fuck are you still doing here?! Move! Get out of here!

LT Reynolds: Alright 1st platoon let's go!

We navigated through the base filled with dust and fall debris in order to reach the parking garage. The wounded began coming down, most were cut up by the debris, and some were on stretchers. The bombing and strafing run by the Russian jets sure did a number on the building. We double-timed it; we weren't going to die in the building without first killing a Russian, that was for damn sure. Someone waved us into the parking garage and we got in the Humvees.

LT Reynolds: Staff Sergeant Ransel, take 1st squad to Potomac Central, there are civilians reporting that they're trapped in a community center. I'll take 2nd squad to Franklin Views, Sergeant Kraz you need to take 3rd squad through Westlake Knolls, reports are police and civilians are pinned down at the police station.

I knew the route to Potomac Central, so I got in the driver's seat. Sergeant Trapp got in the passenger's seat, Private First Class Felix Smith (our fire team's support gunner) was on the .50 cal machinegun, and Gallen got right behind me in the back.

SGT Trapp: What's our ETA Floyd?

CPL Strife: Shit, um, about 10 minutes, maybe 15 to 16 with traffic.

SGT Trapp: You kiddin' me?! Nothing takes that long! You better accelerate this bitch when we get moving!

CPL Strife: I know goddamn it! Why don't you ask the Russians to go away? That'll make it a hell of a lot easier!

SSG Ransel: Alright, Trapp, get your team moving!

SGT Trapp: Ya got it Ransel. You heard him Floyd!

I flipped the switch and started to drive. We were the first Humvee in the column; I was leading the column for the first and hopefully last time. I floored the pedals and headed out of the garage. I did a quick prayer in my head in which no more Americans will have to die. That maybe I could accomplish something to stop this massacre . . . oh how naïve I was.

We got out of the garage and the first thing I saw were blankets of parachutes falling in the air. The paratroopers were jumping out a mile away from the base and landed in the Russian held zone. In our rearview mirrors, more paratroopers were landing a mile behind the base.

PVT Gallen: [_In disbelief_]Oh my God . . .

Soldiers were running everywhere to mobilize outside. Medics were patching up the wound outside the base. The guard posts were blown to hell, with the other barracks on fire; rubble and debris were everywhere around the base. I just sped along, I couldn't watch.

Radio: We are receiving heavy fire . . . get a line of sight on that bastard! . . . W-we have . . . 40% casualties . . . need immediate support . . . say again; need immediate support . . . enemy fast movers! Get to cover!

For 15 straight minutes, we heard this kind of report on every frequency, waves of paratroopers kept on coming. And more Guardsmen kept on dying. There was no end to them.

SGT Trapp: Come on Floyd, we should be there by now!

CPL Strife: I know; we're about two minutes out!

SGT Trapp: C'mon man! Civvies are dying! We gotta—

PFC Smith: [_Banging on the top of the Humvee_]Whoa! Strife stop!

A man walked out into the middle of the road, slow as a snail. I stopped the Humvee a meter shy of hitting him. This guy was pretty oblivious to a speedy Humvee; he didn't even stop to look up at us.

The man was in his mid-40s, he was black, had an Orioles cap on while wearing a white polo. As he walked past, he pivoted his body; he was holding a kid, 9 to 10, his son, who was dead. The son had a bullet hole in his neck, his eyes were in the back of his head, his arms dangled lifelessly, mouth agape, with blackish blood running down his body; staining the shirt of the father.

The man turned his head at me, and at that moment I could see into his eyes: Nothing. There was nothing in his eyes; no spark of life, no depth of emotion, nothing except the empty cry of the shell of a man. His son was dead, his pride, his legacy, his love, his everything . . . gone.

The man gazed upon his son's lifeless face and looked back at me. His face slowly cringed in disgust as he cradled the boy's head into his chest. The man walked away into obscurity.

My stomach churned, I gritted my teeth, and I felt like gagging. I rested my head against the steering wheel. Seeing an innocent boy killed; an innocent American kid; this was worse than my time in Afghanistan.

I could hear Gallen behind me whimpering to himself, Trapp let out a long sigh and buried his face in his hand. Smith banged on the top of the Humvee in frustration that this was real, innocent people were really dying.

PFC Smith: Come on Strife . . . we gotta go, we cannot allow this to go on.

I inhaled, and tried to put on a serious expression, I don't know why I did. I floored the pedal and got the Humvee moving.

The father's eyes, and his son's body; they were seared into my brain. I couldn't think straight to save my life, I didn't even notice a throng of civilians run out in front of the Humvee until Trapp alerted me. I once again stopped a meter shy of running them over.

SGT Trapp: [_Concerned_] Come on Floyd . . . get it together man, please?

The crowd was in a state shock; some were covered in blood, others were running around screaming and pleading for any information about missing loved ones. There were several news teams out there reporting the tragedy and trying their best to conduct interviews from the people who escaped from the clutches of the Russians. Every one of them was on the verge tears.

Civilians: Where's John?! | Samantha! Samantha where are you?! | Where's Dwayne?! Anyone seen Dwayne Hart?! | Please! Have you seen my baby/ my husband/ my wife/ my child/ my cousin?

We could hear sporadic gunfire coming from the Inner Harbor. I somehow safely maneuvered past the crowd and was eventually greeted by the first Guardsman I saw since leaving the base. He directed me to where the MLR was and where the break off point between our squads would be.

LT Reynolds: Alright Golf One, we break off here, good luck!

My squad broke off from the platoon and we entered Potomac Central. Our two Humvees roamed down the subdivision at a snail's pace. What the Russians did . . . was, unspeakable. There were lines of houses on both sides of the street parallel to each other; and corpses laid everywhere in between.

These people were laid out on the front lawn, the sidewalk, the street, and even in the front door stoops. Parachutes were hanging on houses, some were discarded on the roads, some were caught on chimneys; but judging from the amount of discarded parachutes, I had to say about 30 Russian Paratroopers landed on this street **alone**.

Bullets were riddled into homes, the pavement, and the cars. Hundreds of spent AK shell cases littered the street. The Russians even shot up the cars with civilians still inside. The bodies that were lined up perfectly indicated that some were shot execution style. Others, the Russians shot as they ran away. Just . . . fuck . . . all those bodies. I have never seen so many bodies in my life.

CPL Strife: My God . . .

SGT Trapp: What the hell . . ?

CPL Strife: [_Softly_] They . . . they killed them all.

I heard Smith retch and heard the sound of him vomiting on the top of the Humvee. It was a hot, humid day. The bodies began to bloat at a faster rate.

I kept on driving through the massacre at a low speed; I didn't want to run over any bodies. These were innocent people, and those Russians gunned them down, like fucking dogs. The bodies were endless, no matter how far we went, there were always more bodies. Always more bodies.

Men and women were lying on top of each other in pools of blood. Children with the top half of their skulls blown off lied on top of their parents. Bodies lied twisted in awkward positions, some of their eyes still open, their set eyes set upon us, haunting us with their gaze. Pets; dogs and cats were shot down on the lawn as well. **Nothing** was left alive on that street.

PVT Gallen: [_Quietly_] Wait listen . . . do you hear that?

SGT Trapp: . . . Hear what?

CPL Strife: I don't hear nothing.

PVT Gallen: Shush . . . listen . . . Smith you hear that?

PFC Smith: Yeah, I think I do. Sounds like . . . crying?

PVT Gallen: Strife, please stop the Humvee.

CPL Strife: Wait what? You crazy? We can't—

PVT Gallen: Stop the Humvee! Now!

I brought the Humvee to a stop and Gallen bolted out the door. He ran past two houses, completely oblivious to the carnage all around.

SSG Ransel: [_Over the radio_] Uh Trapp, why are we stopping and why is the new guy out of your Humvee?

SGT Trapp: Um . . . I believe he heard something, I think it's a survivor.

SSG Ransel: Well move up now, we're wasting time!

SGT Trapp: Copy that. Strife, move up. Smith, maintain a visual on Gallen.

PFC Smith: [_Slightly annoyed_] Yeah I got it, I got it.

From what I could see, Gallen walked up to a dead women lying on her stomach. Gallen gently rolled her over and recoiled back in disbelief. He picked up a blood soaked baby. The baby's cries broke the eerie silence of the subdivision. Gallen cradled the baby into his chest and brought his head up at me, as if seeking for answers of what to do with the baby. I didn't have the slightest clue.

CPL Strife: Uh Rich . . . what do we do with that baby?

SGT Trapp: I don't . . . I don't even know.

PFC Smith: Whoa! Hey, uh did you guys just see that?!

SGT Trapp: See what Smith?

PFC Smith: I thought I saw some movement in the second story red house with the Ravens flag, 25 meters out on the right, our 2'oclock.

I could see the house Smith was talking about. I kept on driving towards Gallen at a low speed as he walked back to us. A figure then mysteriously appeared out of the second story window holding something that was pointed at us. Then a flash sparked from the item that the figure was holding. I then realized it; it was an actual Russian firing an RPG at us! As the rocket spun in the air, I reacted first:

CPL Strife: [_Screaming_] Fuck! Rocket!

I floored the gas and swung the Humvee madly to the left, just dodging the deadly missile by a few meters. The explosion was thunderous; the blast itself rocked the Humvee.

PFC Smith: Holy shit!

SGT Trapp: What the hell!

SSG Ransel: Ambush! Pull back! Get outta there!

Swarms of bullets suddenly engulfed our Humvee; the incoming fire came in so fast that the bullets cracking off the Humvee sounded just like popcorn. I panicked, so I floored the Humvee. I sped past Gallen without even thinking about him; I just wanted to get the hell out of there. But the farther I went, the more bullets came at us.

SGT Trapp: What are you doin'?! Back it up! Back it u—

I have to estimate, that about 10 bullets penetrated the windshield of the Humvee at that exact moment. As I brought my head down and shielded my face from the broken glass flying in my face; I felt a sudden scraping sting along the left side of my face near my eye and it reached all the way to my left ear. Goddamn that was painful, like you have no idea! Once I got scraped, all I could hear out of the left side of my head was a high pitch whining screech. It was so painful, that I couldn't keep my left eye open.

I placed my hand over my eye and drove the Humvee with my right hand. I made an unconscious decision to make a sudden sharp left turn, and I drove the Humvee through an empty garage door and crashed once I was inside the garage. All I can remember that I went flying into the steering wheel and then blacked out.

I woke up to sound of banging in the backseat. I brought my head up from the steering wheel and took a little time to recognize how much of a mess I was. I was partially deaf in my left ear and I was practically blind in my left eye. My nose was throbbing out of control and the back of my head felt fuzzy. It was hard for me to breathe and every time I coughed it felt like I was being stabbed in the chest. I let out a painful sigh and rested my head back on the wheel:

CPL Strife: [_Weakly_] . . . God, why is this happening?

PFC Smith: Strife? Is that you? You're alive?

I turned around and Lord behold it was Smith; sprawled out on the back seat, holding his side and trying to kick the Humvee door out.

CPL Strife: Of course I'm . . . [_grunts_] alive . . . what did'cha think I was, dead?

PFC Smith: I've been calling you and Trapp, you both didn't answer. So I assumed the worse.

I forgot about Trapp. His body was leaning on the dashboard of the Humvee, motionless. I began moving him, but he didn't respond. I was getting worried; I pulled his body and positioned him upright. Trapp had two bullets in him; one in his throat and the other right above his left eye. Sergeant Richard Icarus Trapp, 26 years old, from Hyattsville, Maryland; was killed in action.

I reeled backwards in shock and began shuddering uncontrollably. In my service history, I have never seen a dead comrade before. When soldiers are fatally wounded, they are treated on the spot and are evac'd. If they die, they usually die on the way to, or at, the ER room. Soldiers rarely die on the spot; at least that was the case for me.

Seeing my buddy like that, I can't really describe what I felt. All I could think about was how he could have gotten hit. Once I solved that, I clenched my fist and banged on the wheel. I was sad, mad, frustrated, and scared all at once. It was all my fault. Why did I go forward when Ransel clearly said go back? If I had put the Humvee in reverse, Trapp could have still been alive.

PFC Smith: What's wrong?

I couldn't say it. I didn't want to. I didn't want to pronounce my friend was dead. I clenched my fist tighter and gritted my teeth. Smith instantly understood.

PFC Smith: [_Whispers_] Shit . . .

CPL Strife: How long was I out?

PFC Smith: I dunno, maybe five minutes at the most, it was fairly quick.

CPL Strife: Where are we Smith?

PFC Smith: Inside some dude's garage you just crashed into, you inadvertently saved us from the Russians man.

CPL Strife: . . . Are you okay?

PFC Smith: Yeah . . . I, I just got tagged in my side. The vest took most of it, but it still went through . . . [_chuckles darkly_] it fuckin' burns man . . . what about you? You got blood on the left side of your face.

I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw that the entire left side of my face below my eye was covered in blood. I took my helmet off and examined myself. I tried opening my left eye, but it began stinging like a bitch. I could only partially open my eye though, but even that was a challenge. I was so relieved that I didn't get a bullet in the eye. Upon further examination, I found that a bullet had grazed me just half a millimeter away from my left eye, and carved a deep horizontal grove on the left side of my face, all the way back to my left ear and removing half of my ear. All I had was half an ear on the left side of my head. That explained the pain and deafness I was feeling.

I think I was beginning to go into shock after the realization, but thankfully Smith calmed me down and told me to focus on the situation at hand. Hard to focus when the left side of your face is completely fucked up, ain't it?

PFC Smith: Strife! Calm down man. You'll be alright. Just focus alright?

CPL Strife: [_Excitedly_] Yeah, yeah, yeah! Focus! That's right. Okay Floyd calm down now . . . [_slowly inhales and exhales_] what happened to Ransel?

PFC Smith: I dunno, after you peeled out; I just heard some automatic AK fire and an explosion, then it was quiet.

I tried contacting Ransel on our radio, but all I could get back was static.

CPL Strife: Shit . . . what about the new guy, Gallen? What about him?

PFC Smith: I dunno, we kinda left him after the ambush remember?

A knot grew in my stomach. I just realized that I left Gallen to the Russians when the ambush started. Poor kid, first day on the job and he gets wasted, just like I predicted; yet it was because of me.

CPL Strife: Hey Smith?

PFC Smith: . . . Yeah?

CPL Strife: . . . I think we're on our own.

PFC Smith: Hmph . . . no shit.


	3. Hazardous Occupation

CPL Strife: Come on Smith . . . [_Grunts_] we got to get out of this Humvee.

PFC Smith: Way ahead of you.

Smith returned to kicking out the Humvee windows, he cracked the glass but didn't get all the way through. I took one last look at Trapp's body on my right and opened my door. As soon as my foot hit the floor, I fell like an anvil. I did not know how fucked up I really was. My legs felt like spaghetti, oh God that felt weird. I had to use my M4 as a crutch just to stand up until the feeling came back to my legs. I opened the door for Smith and dragged him out of the Humvee. We sat next to the Humvee for about two minutes recuperating from the crash.

PFC Smith: [_Lightly chuckling_] I still can't believe you crashed the Humvee into a garage.

CPL Strife: Yeah, neither can I . . . but it saved our lives.

PFC Smith: Yeah, it did . . . fucking Russians, I'm going to kill 'em all.

CPL Strife: Get in line.

PFC Smith: Damn, it's so quiet outside. You think Ransel's— you know?

CPL Strife: I hope not, I hope they got out of there.

PFC Smith: I bet they got Gallen too. Poor kid.

CPL Strife: Bastards already got Trapp.

PFC Smith: What are we going to do with him?

CPL Strife: . . . As much as I hate to say it, we have to leave him here. If we take him with us, it will do us more harm than good.

PFC Smith: Yeah . . . I guess.

CPL Strife: How's your wound?

PFC Smith: It burns a little, but I'm alright, don't worry about me. How's that eye?

CPL Strife: [_Gently feeling his eye_] Can't see shit out of my left eye. If I open my eye, it starts throbbing out of control. I'm practically one-eyed now.

PFC Smith: Oh man, we . . . we gotta get outta here man.

CPL Strife: Don't have to tell me twice. I don't know where we should go. We can't reach the civvies in our condition. We need to head back to the FOB.

PFC Smith: Alright then, let's get out of the garage and into the street.

CPL Strife: Whoa Smith, are you nuts?!

PFC Smith: What?

CPL Strife: Didn't you remember that just five minutes ago, our whole squad was ambushed on that road. The Russians have that road on lock. Let's go through this house and out the back.

With half of our strength returned, we got up, grabbed our weapons and headed to the door. I opened the door for Smith making sure his wounded self was safe first. Before getting through the door, I took one last look at the Humvee. I just couldn't believe that I survived that; I survived the bullets, I survived the crashed, and I survived— while Trapp didn't. I took a heavy sigh and stared at the Humvee one last time.

At that moment, a figure came from behind the Humvee and walked into the garage. I remember what he was wearing. He had a red woodland style camouflage uniform, with a dark black Kevlar vest, black fingerless gloves, and a weird looking automatic rifle. But what the most distinguishable feature on this guy, was that he was wearing a gas mask. He was a Russian. That was the first Russian that I ever saw. When he came out of nowhere, my heart fucking skipped a beat.

When he saw, he stopped for half a second and jerked his shoulders back a little, surprised to see me by the door. Half a second. In that half second—now I don't care if you guys think I'm crazy by saying this, I know what I saw that moment—our eyes met, and I could see his eyes through his thick gas mask. He was probably 7 or 8 meters away, that close, but I could see his eyes.

His eyes, they were filled with shock at first from seeing me. But then his eyes began to squint, then it contorted into a glare. I could see, I don't know how to describe it. Anger? Rage? Hatred? No . . . that doesn't do it justice. His eyes were murderous. They showed no fear, no hesitation, no remorse, just murderous intent. His eyes paralyzed me with fear. I couldn't move at all, hell I was trembling! He knew I was afraid, he preyed on my fear. He knew I wouldn't fight back. I knew that I wasn't going to fight back. I actually thought I was going to die. It was those eyes of his, he wanted to KILL.

In that half second, he brought up his rifle and had it leveled on my chest as he moved forward. To me, everything was in slow-mo. I was terrified beyond belief; this man was going to end my life. I took a step back. Now the door had one step to get through, and when I took a step back, I tripped backwards through the door and fell into the house. That one accident saved my life.

I could see the bullets as I fell backwards. In a weird way, I felt like Neo from The Matrix you know? I was falling backwards as the bullets were being fired over me. Once I hit the floor, I frantically scooted backwards as his bullets began to crack against the tile floor next to my feet. I closed the door to the garage with my feet. His bullets began penetrating the wood like it was tissue. I crawled over behind a counter in the living room, while Smith was propped up against the wall facing the door.

Smith fired a good long burst from his SAW and raked the garage door, hoping his bullets would kill the Russian. The Russian stopped firing, but Smith kept it up. I was right next to that big ass gun too, and we were in such a hurry to mobilize, a lot of us forgot our earplugs. That bitch of a machine gun was loud as fuck. I yelled at him to stop firing, but he couldn't hear me. I had to kick him to get him to stop.

CPL Strife: [_Screaming_] Jesus Christ! Enough of the "Spray N Pray"! I think you got him!

PFC Smith: WHAT?

CPL Strife: I said . . . you know what? Fuck it. Good job Smith.

I took the time to look out the front windows of the house to observe any Russians approaching. What I saw instead out the very corner of the window was Ransel's Humvee up in flames. I could see from my range, a body sprawled out next to the Humvee, as if he was trying to get out of the vehicle. I couldn't tell who it was, but from the distance it looked like Private First Class Simon Guerrero. I banged my fist against the window in frustration.

Private First Class Simon Guerrero, 24 years old, from Silver Spring, Maryland; Private First Class Sekhem Nabayo, 23 years old, from Bowie, Maryland; Specialist Jacob Markowitz, 23 years old, from Upper Marlboro, Maryland; Sergeant Andrew Gist, 26 years old, from Pikesville, Maryland; and Staff Sergeant Mason Ransel, 31 years old, from Baltimore, Maryland; were all killed in action.

Smith and I were the only ones left.

About a good ten seconds of silence later, we received a burst of automatic fire. Russians were shooting us _through_ the house. Smith and I hit the deck and began crawling to find some cover as wooden splinters and bits from the walls fell on top of us. I got behind a couch next to some windows and out of the corner of my eye; I saw a few Russian helmets pass the window. That, damn near scared me to death. The Russians were flanking the house. If we didn't get out of there immediately, the house would be surrounded.

CPL Strife: Smith, the Russians are flanking us! We gotta get outta this house now!

I picked Smith up and we headed for the back door into the backyard. Now the backyard to this house was surrounded by picket fences, the whole subdivision was. Each backyard had a door in the fence leaving the backyard and entering the picket fence system of the backyard and . . . You know what I'm not making much sense to you anyway. Simply put, the whole subdivision we were in at the time; their backyards were like a labyrinth of picket fences all right? You leave one backyard and you enter the labyrinth.

Anyway, Smith and I left the backyard of the bullet-ridden house and we entered into the labyrinth. And right when we left the backyard, the flanking Russians turned the corner and had us in their sights. I brought up my rifle and I fired off three or five shots scaring them back into cover behind a picket fence. Smith would find a different backyard we could hide in, but then the Russians would nearly encircle us again and we would find some way to break out of the backyard and run away from them. This happened for a good 20 minutes. Those Russians bastards chased us across 10 blocks of the subdivision. 10 fucking blocks! Those guys were persistent.

Each block they chased us through I had used up probably half a mag of ammo trying to keep them at bay, but needless to say, Smith and I didn't hit a single Russian, they simply utilized cover effectively. There is one positive thing I have to say about the Russians, I hate saying this, but they truly are worthy adversaries. I fought against untrained insurgents back in Afghanistan and I guess I naively believed in the back of my mind that the Russians would fight like the insurgents. Oh boy how wrong I was about that. I was so fucking naïve about that.

Where do I start with their combat effectiveness? Okay . . . well first, like I said they had **excellent** fire and movement. They would apply great suppression on us and then they would always send flankers whenever possible; it was an absolute miracle how Smith and I got out of there without a scratch. Secondly, they controlled their shots. Unlike the insurgents who held on full-auto and tended not to aim much, whereas the Russians fired in semi-automatic mode and took exceptionally aimed single shots most of the time. Most of all, these guys had discipline. Throughout the whole chase, they never once began to tire or change tactics, they just kept on hammering at us until fatigue set in for us.

After we got to the tenth block, I was out of breath; I wasn't in shape like I thought I was. Smith was in a much worse state than I was. He was on the ground wheezing his lungs out and was turning paler by the minute; this man lost too much blood. He was so tired I had to pick him up and carry him. The Russians effortlessly caught up with us, and began to suppress us. I only had half a mag left and Smith used up most of his M249 ammo as well.

Then I heard the sounds of M4s firing back at the Russians, behind me in a house were a group of Guardsmen firing out the door. One older looking Guardsman was waving at me, it looked like he was in charge, he was African-American in his mid-30's, had a potbelly and looked like a young Danny Glover from Lethal Weapon, mustache and everything. Real good movie by the way.

Guardsman: Hurry up! Bring your wounded man in here now!

I scooped up Smith in a fireman's carry and ran for the house with Russian bullets snipping at my heels and overhead. Halfway there, I heard Smith grunt painfully followed by him gasping for air. I bolted into the house and placed Smith down in the kitchen where most of the Guardsmen were.

CPL Strife: Quick! Quick! I need a medic for him now!

Guardsman: Alright, Barton! We have another wounded Guardsman that needs help.

A female medic ran into kitchen and got next to Smith and examined him fairly quickly and opened up her medical bag. She was soft-spoken, blonde and had eyes as blue as the sky. And although, her face was covered in the blood of her patients, you could tell that she was reasonably attractive.

PFC Barton: [_To herself_] Oh man, he's lost a lot of blood. [_To Strife_] Where's he hit do you know?

CPL Strife: He got hit in the stomach.

PFC Barton: Alright what's his name?

CPL Strife: Uh, Smith! PFC Felix Smith.

PFC Barton: [_Soothingly_] Alright Smith, hang in there alright, stay with me.

CPL Strife: Oh God, he got another hole in his leg Doc. Must have been when I was carrying him. Uh Doc, his leg is bleeding a lot!

PFC Barton: What? Let me see that. [_Her mouth drops and she shakes her head frantically_] Oh no, no, no. Oh no!

CPL Strife: What? What is it?!

Barton tore open his pants leg and examined the wound in horror; she gazed back at Smith's nearly unconscious face and sighed.

CPL Strife: Doc, what the hell is wrong?!

PFC Barton: He got hit in the femoral artery. And judging by how pale he looks . . . he's going to bleed out in a couple of seconds.

I was speechless; I leaned over Smith and begged for him to stay awake, but once I begged, his eyes fell shut. Barton quickly checked his pulse on his neck. She brought her hand back to her side, closed her eyes remorsefully and bowed her head. Private First Class Felix Smith, 22 years old, from Baltimore, Maryland; was killed in action.

I took my helmet off and threw it on the ground in anger. Why Smith? He was a good guy, very funny, sarcastic as hell but overall great guy. Why Smith? Why fucking everybody? Why was everyone dying but I was still here? The medic just placed her hand on my shoulder and stared at me with compassionate eyes.

PFC Barton: I'm sorry Corporal.

The black Guardsman walked up to me and dropped down to eye level.

Guardsman: Corporal, I know this is a hard moment right now, but I need you to focus on the here and now, do you understand? What's your name?

CPL Strife: [_Disenchanted_] It's Strife.

CW2 Bullock: I'm Chief Warrant Officer Bullock; just call me "Chief". The medic next to you is Private First Class Barton, that's Privates Wagner and Muir by the door. Private First Class Beaumont is there watching the front door. And we got a Private Gallen watching the side window.

CPL Strife: [_Face suddenly filled with life_] Wait, there's a Gallen here? [_Calling_]Hey Gallen where are you?!

PVT Gallen: Strife! Is that you?

Gallen ran into kitchen with a surprised grin on his face. Needless to say, I grinned back at him, I was no longer alone.

PVT Gallen: Son of a bitch, thank God you're alive Strife.

CPL Strife: Same to you. How did you survive the ambush?

PVT Gallen: When the first RPG hit and when the Russians came out; I tried to run to you, but you sped off. So I ran back to Ransel's Humvee, but that got destroyed as well . . . along with everyone in it. So I hightailed it through the backyard and never looked back. Eventually I ran into Chief's team here.

CPL Strife: What happened to the baby you were carrying?

PVT Gallen: [_Bowing his head and speaking quietly_] . . . She didn't make it . . . s-s-she caught a stray . . . I had to put her body down.

CPL Strife: [_Clenching his fist_] Fucking bastards . . .

Gallen eyes rolled on Smith's corpse, he retched in horror.

PVT Gallen: God they got Smith too?

CPL Strife: Yeah, we're all that's left.

Beaumont cried out in pain and fell backwards clutching his chest.

PFC Beaumont: I'm hit! Oh God I'm hit!

PFC Barton: Oh man! You're Strife right? You and Gallen pull Beaumont to me.

We ran to the door and firmly grasped Beaumont and we dragged him into kitchen. Barton went to work on him immediately, ripping his armor and equipment off like it was Christmas paper. I ran to cover the front door. The Russians had the front covered as well, I could see about two Russians hiding behind a bullet-ridden Escalade about 20 meters away and two more behind a fence 35 meters away. We were surrounded.

The Russians behind the Escalade fired round after round through the wall as I returned fire. It was a damn miracle the sniper didn't pick me off. Eventually I ran out of ammo, so I had to switch to my 203. I leveled it carefully with the Escalade and could feel a grin encroach on my face as I found my sweet spot. It was time for some payback.

I fired the grenade launcher and the Escalade blew like a car bomb and blew the Russians to smithereens. That Escalade remained a smoking heap; I must have hit the gas tank or something. I inserted another HE round and I pivoted out the door frame to aim at the fence the other Russians were hiding behind. One of them saw me and ran to a better spot for cover; the other ignored me and raised his rifle up at me. I had him in my sights first and in less than two seconds, he would become nothing but a bucket of paste. But then . . . the goddamn sniper interfered. Right when I was caressing the trigger, the sniper shot me square in my chest. That bullet had so much force it pushed me back into the house.

Guys, you got to take my word on it, that bitch knocked the wind out me. What I can remember is that after I fell back in the house, I couldn't breathe, my lungs were constricted. Every time I tried to inhale the worst it got, I started to panic and I flailed around. My chest was in such brutal pain, it felt like a sumo wrestler was playing jump rope on my chest.

PFC Barton: [_Seeing Strife on the floor_] Not again!

PFC Beaumont: Must have been that sniper fucker again!

Barton ran over to me and calmed me down; she quickly patted me to feel where I was shot. She opened me up and stared in amazement.

CPL Strife: How bad is it Doc?

PFC Barton: [_Stunned_] I don't believe it.

CPL Strife: [_Worried_] Don't lie to me, how bad is it?

PFC Barton: See for yourself.

My chest was fine; my vest stopped the bullet from penetrating. All that was on my chest was a bruise from the impact of the bullet. Now that I think about it; that was twice in one day I was hit by a bullet that could have killed me. God must really love me huh?

CPL Strife: Oh thank God, then why does my chest hurt so much?

PFC Barton: Because of the impact of the bullet. Just stay down and catch your breath.

A long burst of bullets penetrated the house, sending splinters of wood and plywood into the air and on us. The smell of slightly burnt wood and gunpowder filled the house. I noticed how loud the rounds being fired were, incoming and outgoing. Wagner fell backwards shouting at us that he was hit. Chief Bullock pulled Wagner into the kitchen as Muir provided covering fire out the door. Barton went to work on him; Wagner took one to the waist.

I couldn't take it, I got up and ran back to the front door—hiding my body behind the door to avoid the sniper—and began observing the Russians' positions. Gallen ran to the opposite side of the door and took careful aim at the Russians. One paratrooper ran out of cover behind a tree and strafed towards a silver Prius. Gallen pivoted out of cover and squeezed off some shots, one of them hit the paratrooper. The Russian stumbled to the ground in front of the Prius; he awkwardly tried to pick himself up by grabbing on the side of the car. Gallen fired about five more shots into his chest. The Russian slumped down into a sitting position by the side of the Prius, his head fell forward and he stopped moving. Gallen was so excited he was shaking.

PVT Gallen: Oh my God! I got one! [_To Strife_] I got me a Russian!

CPL Strife: Good kill Gallen; you finally busted your cherry.

Then the Russian brought his head back up and raised his weapon and fired a thick burst of fire at us. Gallen and I whipped back into cover.

CPL Strife: . . . Guess you're cherry's still intact.

PVT Gallen: B-B-But I got him in the chest! How's he still alive?

CPL Strife: They must have some tough-ass armor!

From where I was, I could see two Russians pulling the wounded man to safety. I then heard the sound of an M2 coming from the distance and the distinct sound of a Humvee. The Russians were falling back from the house as tracers rounds were nipping at their heels. I stood out of the door and I see the glorious sight of two American Humvees roaring down the street. I wave to them and they stopped in front of our house.

CPL Strife: Hey Chief, we got Humvees! Our cavalry is here!

CW2 Bullock: What?! Thank God something good happened! Okay, we need to get the wounded in the Humvees! Strife and Gallen, you two place Wagner in the first Humvee; Barton and Muir, you two grab Beaumont and follow them! I got Smith's body. Let's go!

We grabbed Wagner under his shoulders and helped him walk out to the Humvee. The Russians were about 100 meters out from us—thanks to the Humvees appearance—and were still firing at us, though the incoming fire was less accurate. We all scrambled Wagner, Beaumont, and Smith's body into the Humvee. Muir got into the Humvee with them volunteering to stay with them.

PFC Barton: Chief where are the Humvees going to take us?

CW2 Bullock: I don't know maybe back to base! But don't worry 'bout that now. There's no room in this Humvee, we gotta get in the second Humvee!

That's when there was a sound of an approaching helicopter emanating from the horizon. I paused for a second to see if I could recognize it. I couldn't it. And out of nowhere a Russian attack gunship, a fucking Mi-28 gunship, came out of the sky and was facing our convoy.

PVT Gallen: . . . Oh Crap . . .

The gunship leveled itself perfectly at the first Humvee and fired its rocket. The rocket destroyed the Humvee; it sent that thing flying in flames. The shockwave of the blast from so close flung the four of us backwards. I had the God-awful ringing in my ears again and it was a struggle to get up, but somehow I managed. I helped the rest of them up and pushed them away from the last Humvee. I knew that the last Humvee wouldn't make it.

CPL Strife: Guys we gotta go! Move away from the Humvee! The Humvee is going to go up in flames!

The gunner of the Humvee started firing back at the gunship, but the gunship let loose its chain gun and fired at the gunner. I saw what happened, but I wish I didn't. Do you guys know what it looks like when one hundred 30 mm caliber bullets go through the human body? Let me tell you, it ain't pretty. The chain gun tore the gunner to pieces; oh you think I'm exaggerating when I say that?! No way man, that fucking gun shot that poor guy to pieces.

With each round entering through his body, a chunk of flesh—the size of my fist—was flying off his body. Then . . . one unfortunate placed round went through this guy's face . . . and it just went—_pop_. I'm serious, his head exploded. The man was being made into Swiss cheese and then his head popped like a balloon; helmet and all. The gunship kept up the chain gun fire, then fired its rockets and destroyed the last Humvee. As quick as they came, our cavalry was gone.


	4. FUBAR

With our Humvees destroyed, we were now receiving fire from the gunship and from the Russian airborne troops; and it was just the four of us. I decided to get the fuck out of dodge.

CPL Strife: Run! Let's get outta here!

We ran through the street and dipped through a heavily wooded area. We were out of sight from the gunship, but the Russian infantry went in the woods after us. We navigated through the trees as AK-74 rounds cracked off the branches near our heads. Chief led us out of the woods and we came out in a different part of the suburbs. We found an abandoned house which we used to hide from the Russians. They followed us all the way out to the house, where they began searching the area; but they passed by the house we were in and kept on going until they were completely gone from the area 10 minutes later.

CPL Strife: [_Out of breath_] I think they're gone.

PFC Barton: Chief what do we now?

CW2 Bullock: [_Pacing back and forth nervously_] I don't know! Let me think . . . how we do look on ammo?

PFC Barton: I got one mag left.

PVT Gallen: Same here.

CPL Strife: I'm out.

CW2 Bullock: And I have like 15 rounds left . . . shit. Real fast, what was you're individual assignments before we met?

CPL Strife: Well, Gallen and I are in the same squad in Golf Company. Our platoon was supposed to enter the Russian held zone and evacuate any civvies we could find. Our squad walked into Potomac Central and we got ambushed five minutes later.

PFC Barton: Muir, Beaumont and I were in Hotel Company. I was attached to their fire team as they held the extreme right flank of the defensive line at the Inner Harbor. We were spread thin, and some Russians got in the gap and cut us off from the rest of our Company. We fell back hard until we met you in the house Chief.

PVT Gallen: What about you Chief?

CW2 Bullock: I was on practice maneuvers with a squad from Golf Company outside the city, I got reports about New York and orders to return to base. We passed through Baltimore when the Russians began dropping right on top of us. We didn't stand a chance. I don't know but somehow me and another Guardsman, Private Tenneco, made it pass the lines and we came in this subdivision until he got hit by a Russian mortar—

CPL Strife: Wait, Tenneco's dead?

CW2 Bullock: Yeah he is, did you know him?

CPL Strife: [_Slightly depressed_] Yeah I did, he was part of 2nd platoon, real good guy.

CW2 Bullock: I'm sorry son, don't worry we'll get the Russians for what they did to us.

Private First Class Marvin Tenneco, 28 years old, from Baltimore, Maryland was killed in action.

CW2 Bullock: For now, we need to head back to the city on the double. We can't do anything for the civvies right now.

PFC Barton: I second that.

PVT Gallen: Wait, we can't leave them for the Russians.

PFC Barton: Chief's not saying "forget the civilians", in our fighting condition, if we do run into any civilians and run into some Russians, we'll do more harm than good.

PVT Gallen: Just doesn't seem right, we all saw what the Russians did to the civilians.

CW2 Bullock: I understand Gallen, but, we need—wait, Strife can you contact your CO?

CPL Strife: Oh shit, I didn't think about that, I'll get right on it. Gallen, you try to reach Lieutenant Reynolds.

PVT Gallen: I'm on it.

CW2 Bullock: Barton you try to contact your C.O as well.

PFC Barton: You got it Chief.

I got on our radio and tried to radio in back to our Company Commander, Captain Derrick Maddux. I all I got was static. I checked the frequency and tried again, I got nothing, he couldn't respond.

CPL Strife: I couldn't get him Chief, all I got was static.

PVT Gallen: That was all I heard on my line as well.

PFC Barton: . . . I got nothing.

CW2 Bullock: Goddamn piece of shit radios.

PFC Barton: Well what now Chief? I mean we can't exactly just wait until those Russians come back looking for us.

CW2 Bullock: I know that Barton, we just need to head back to the Harbor.

CPL Strife: And how exactly do we do that? We don't know even where we are.

PVT Gallen: Uh, hey guys, you might wanna take a look at this.

Gallen was looking outside the window of the house into the sky. We saw an American fighter jet being chased through the air by two Russian jets. The American jet was trying evasive maneuvers to shake off the Russians, but they were right on his tail. Then the American jet did like—this somersault in the air, but the Russians did the same thing. One of the Russians fired at the jet once it was completely upside down in the air and hit the tail. The backside of the jet went up in flames and the American pilot ejected.

Now the way the jets were moving, the jets first initially flew over the house we were in. Okay so you're following me? Right at the high point of the somersault, the American jet's nose was facing to our house. Once the Russians shot the jet, the jet began doing a barrel roll, and it came rolling down in an angle. The plane was coming down at **us**. It was clear as day that it was going to come down and demolish our house. It was coming down way to fast; it was almost like a meteor. Man, I was so fucking furious. How many times does God want to kill me in a single fucking day . . . in the worst fucking way?

CPL Strife: Ah you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!

CW2 Bullock: Fuck, fuck, fuck, everyone out!

PFC Barton: Oh my God, what the hell!

We all ran out of that house like a motherfucker. We turned left and ran about 25 meters when we saw the jet crash into the house and exploded in a great ball of fire. It was so loud it was deafening, and it was so hot that it nearly seared my eyebrows of my damn face. The fire ball caused by the jet continued through two blocks, destroying a few sets of houses. The three of us were damn near speechless. But Gallen on the other hand, I have to admit, he went completely batshit.

CW2 Bullock: [_Stammering_] . . . E-E-Everyone one a-a-alright?

PFC Barton: . . . Yeah, I-I-I-I t-t-think I'm fine.

CPL Strife: [_Panting hard_] . . . Holy black Jesus . . . I'm good Chief.

CW2 Bullock: Alright then, let's move out. [_Noticing Gallen's quietnes_s] Gallen, are you alright?

PVT Gallen: Am I alright? Um let me think . . . A goddamn motherfuckin' jet almost flattened us and you ask us that?! Of course I'm not fuckin' alright! What the fuck is wrong with you Chief?!

CW2 Bullock: [_Angrily_] Watch your mouth Private!

PVT Gallen: Oh go fuck yourself Chief! I don't give a shit! Too much has happened to me today for me to give a shit! A-A-A-A fuckin' jet just dropped out of the sky! You are a fuckin' retard bringing us out here!

CW2 Bullock: Private! I'm in command and I will not have you backtalk me!

PVT Gallen: Oh go drop dead in a fuckin' ditch Chief! I don't give a flying fuck anymore! Make your threats all you want but I don't give a shit!

CW2 Bullock: [_Boiling with anger_] Private! Get your act together and move out! That's an order!

PVT Gallen: No! Fuck that shit! To hell with your orders! I've had it today! This is my first day here with the Guards! My first day! I didn't sign up for this shit! I didn't sign up to fight a fuckin' i-i-invasion force, to watch my new squad members die! I didn't sign up to be chased by maniacal Russians or by a fuckin' gunship! And I damn sure didn't sign up for a fuckin' jet to fall on top of me! Fuck this shit! I'm not moving a goddamn muscle!

CW2 Bullock: You're going to move now Gallen or so help me God, your ass is going to spend time in Leavenworth when I'm through with you!

PFC Barton: [_Trying to break up the fight_] Chief, Gallen doesn't mean it, he's just shook up is all, we all need to calm down—

PVT Gallen: Oh Barton you're right and wrong. I am shook up; I had taken too much shit today that one man shouldn't take in a lifetime. But I do mean what I'm saying. [_To Bullock_] So do your worst motherfucker! I don't give a fuck anymore; I just don't give a fuck anymore Chief. I'm not moving a single step!

CW2 Bullock: Oh you goddamn coward! Get up and quit acting like a scared son of a bitch!

PVT Gallen: You know what? I am scared, I'm man enough to say it, I am downright terrified of all of this. But if wanting to live makes me a coward then I guess that I'm a fuckin' coward! I am a coward Chief, but I'm not taking another step!

CPL Strife: You know what? I agree with the kid. Fuck this. I cheated death so much today it ain't even funny. I got blinded in my eye by a stray bullet; I survived getting shot square in my chest by a sniper. My luck is bound to run out, so I say fuck this. I'm staying with Gallen.

CW2 Bullock: [_Yelling in surprise_] You too Strife?! You're listening to a Private?! Hell he just came in today, you don't even know him that long.

CPL Strife: I knew him longer than you. And at this point I trust him more than you. So you can go fuck off with that loyalty shit, I'm sticking with the kid. [_To a confused Barton_] And Barton, right now you're in the middle ground, you're either with us or you're with Chief Asshole over there.

The line was drawn in the sand; Gallen and I were not moving a muscle. Chief was absolutely furious with us, and Barton didn't know what to do. We had enough, we were probably in combat for a good hour or two and we were already sick of it. Hell I admit; I was scared of the whole thing. Afghanistan was nothing like this. A jet falling out of the sky, I couldn't see shit out of my left eye, and all my friends were dying. This was all complete **bullshit**! I got to say though, Gallen standing up to Chief and admitting that he was terrified of this war was the start of my growing respect for Gallen.

Right when things were going to come to a blow; a couple of high-pitched screams emanated in front of us probably about 150 meters in front of us.

PFC Barton: Wait, do you all hear that?

PVT Gallen: Yeah someone's screaming.

PFC Barton: Sounds like a couple of girls screaming.

CW2 Bullock: [_Slowly calming down_] Come on we need to get going.

PVT Gallen: I'm not going.

Barton walked over to Gallen and put her hand on his shoulder and she looked deep into his face.

PFC Barton: [_Comforting_] Gallen, I understand that you don't want to go forward out there. I don't want to fight the Russians any more than you. But we have to rescue the civilians, if we won't than who will? We have to save them; it's the right thing to do.

PVT Gallen: Sorry Barton, but I'm . . . [_Contemplating further_] You know what fine, let's go.

We ran through the neighborhood following the flaming destruction that the jet left behind. After walking closer to screams, we heard who was screaming. It was a teenage girl engulfed in flames from the remnants of the jet crash. She was wading around in circles screaming at the top of her lungs as the flames stuck to her skin. I remember that her skin was black as tar and pieces of flesh and clothes began to peel off her body. She then fell to her knees and collapsed while still screaming, she died a few seconds later.

Behind the burnt girl were pieces of the jet scattered around the area. Beneath the rubble we could hear somebody grunting and cursing in English. I went forward with my rifle at the ready and I slowly approached the rubble and the grumbling and cursing became more audible. I stepped on a piece of metal which made a loud rattle, the voice fell silent. This man was buried underneath the rubble, but he could clearly hear outside the rubble.

CPL Strife: You okay man?

Man: [_Muffled_] Wait who are you?

CPL Strife: I'm Corporal Floyd Strife, of the Maryland National Guard.

Man: Oh thank God, get me the fuck out of here!

I strapped my rifle around my shoulder and tried to lift the rubble off of him, but that shit was heavy. I called Chief and Gallen to help me with rubble while Barton pulled off security of the area. We eventually got the rubble off and helped the man up. Turns out he was a Guardsman as well. He was a tall guy maybe about 6'5 and carried a SAW. His pale-skinned face was covered in dirt and blood and he had a small scar on his right cheek. This guy had the thickest Baltimore accent that I had ever heard; I swear, every time he meant to say "Baltimore" he pronounce it "_Balamer_".

Guardsman: Whoa, thank you guys. Which one of you was Floyd Strife?

CPL Strife: I am.

Guardsman: [_Shaking Strife's hand_] Thanks for haulin' my ass outta there. I'm Specialist Harvey Kerrigan and— [_Noticing Strife's scar_] Jesus Christ! What happened to you?!

CPL Strife: It's a long story. I'm fine.

SPC Kerrigan: If you say so cause half your face—wait, where's Sierra?

PVT Gallen: Who? Who's Sierra?

SPC Kerrigan: [_Moving his head from side to side_] She was the girl who was screamin', where is she?!

CPL Strife: [_Realizing who he was talking about_] Oh boy . . .

SPC Kerrigan: W-What? What happened?!

CW2 Bullock: She's . . . she's over there Specialist.

Kerrigan ran over to the girl's body that was still on fire. He took a knee and ran his hand over his face. He began muttering to himself while slightly trembling.

CW2 Bullock: Specialist, was there anyone else with you?

SPC Kerrigan: . . . Yeah, yeah there was. There were two more civvies wit us including a Specialist from Golf Company. Christ where are they?!

CPL Strife: Wait a Specialist? What was the name of this Specialist?

SPC Kerrigan: Oh, uh her name was Fuentes or something like that.

CPL Strife: Shit! Fuentes, where is she?

SPC Kerrigan: I don't know man; all I remember was the crash and the rubble. She and the others are probably in one of the houses over there.

I ran over to the first house that I saw—which was barely standing and on fire. Yeah I know, not the best place to start looking, but I had a good hunch. It was a nice one story home that had debris everywhere and a huge gaping hole from the jet. Well a hole is the nice way of putting it really; actually it was more of a big chunk taken out from the top of the house. I entered the house near the kitchen area, and I saw her, she was sitting down helmetless and without a weapon on the floor whimpering as she stared into a large pyre, oblivious to the world. There was an awful burning odor like sulfur in the air that stank like a bitch. I felt that some weight left my shoulders as I saw her; I so was happy to see that she was alive.

CPL Strife: [_Softly_] Carlina?

She looked up from the fire and our eyes met. I could see the redness and the tears in her eyes clear as day. For a good ten seconds, she stared at me as if she was trying to determine if I was real or not. I took off my helmet and gave her my usual devilish charming smile; that always gets her. She staggered to her feet and the color of her face returned as she broke a smile.

SPC Fuentes: [_Overjoyed_] Floyd, it's you!

She ran towards me and gave me the deepest hug that she ever gave me. I could feel her nestle her head across my body armor, I swear I never saw her smile that hard before. She was elated that I was alive. I ran my hand through her silk-like hair and kissed her on her forehead—the hopelessness of the whole situation of the invasion seemed to disappear for a moment when I found her.

CPL Strife: [_Whispering_] I'm so happy you're here Carlina.

SPC Fuentes: Me too Floyd . . . oh Floyd what's going on here? Why are the Russians falling— Oh my God! Floyd what happened to your face?!

CPL Strife: Babe, it's a long, long story alright.

SPC Fuentes: [_Feeling his bloody face_] Oh dear Lord, half of your face is bleeding! And you're missing half an ear! Oh God what's wrong with your eye?!

CPL Strife: I'm fine Babe, I'm fine, I feel fine.

SPC Fuentes: It's just, all that blood on your face and your ear . . ! Are you sure you're okay?

PVT Gallen: [_Calling_] Hey Strife, are you in here? Where you at man?

CPL Strife: I'm in here Gallen, I'm in the kitchen.

PVT Gallen: Oh there you are . . . oh; you must be the Specialist that Kerrigan said.

SPC Fuentes: Yeah I am, how is Kerrigan? Is he alright?

CPL Strife: He's fine as well, he's outside. Well, I think it's a good time to introduce you two. Now we're all from Golf Company.

SPC Fuentes: Wait he is? I haven't seen him before.

CPL Strife: Carlina, this is Private Wesley Gallen from 1st Platoon, he just came into my squad today. And Gallen, this is Specialist Carlina Fuentes from 3rd Platoon.

PVT Gallen: [_Shaking hands_] Nice to meet you Fuentes.

SPC Fuentes: Same here, wish it was under better conditions.

CPL Strife: Gallen go get the guys and tell 'em to come inside, at least we have some shelter.

PVT Gallen: You got it Strife, I'll be right back.

SPC Fuentes: Oh thank God your squad's here.

CPL Strife: [_Somberly_] It's not my squad, these guys I picked up on the way.

SPC Fuentes: Well how many did you pick up?

CPL Strife: Two, a Warrant Officer and a Medic.

SPC Fuentes: That's it?

CPL Strife: Well, uh where's your squad?

SPC Fuentes: [_Heartbrokenly_] They, oh God . . . they were killed . . .

CPL Strife: Christ . . . How many?

SPC Fuentes: [_Breaking into tears once again_] All of them . . . Keighley, Cavill, Adler, and . . . oh God, they got Kelly too.

PVT Gallen: Hey Chief they're in here!

SPC Kerrigan: [_Entering the destroyed house_] Oh thank God you're alive, hon.

SPC Fuentes: [_Wiping away tears_] Yeah you too Kerrigan—wait where is Sierra? She was with you right?

SPC Kerrigan: Uh, no, she . . . she uh, didn't make it. Well where are Shaundi and Ataesia? I sent them with you, hon!

Fuentes couldn't say a word. She pointed over to the pyre that she was just sitting by moments ago. It hit me. That smell that burns your nostrils was smell of burning human flesh. The two girls were side-by-side in their final moments together as they were engulfed by the flames from the wreck of the jet. Kerrigan bowed his head and stomped his feet onto the ground in frustration.

PFC Barton: [_Covering her mouth in shock_] Oh my God.

SPC Fuentes: [_Sobbing_] An explosion wrecked the house, and the next thing I new . . . they were screaming as they were on fire.

CW2 Bullock: Don't worry about it Specialist, we can't do anything for them now. We have a worse problem. Let's make introductions first. I'm Chief Warrant Officer Bullock; everyone can simply call me "Chief". And this is Private First Class Barton, our medic. Who are you and what were you two doing out here?

SPC Fuentes: Oh um, I'm Specialist Fuentes and I guess you already met Specialist Kerrigan. I'm from 3rd Platoon, Golf Company, same company as Strife and Gallen. My squad was sent to secure some VIPs in the city. We cut through the suburbs for the shortcut and we were ambushed, I was . . . the only survivor Chief. I decided to head back the way I came and that's where I ran into Kerrigan.

SPC Kerrigan: Chief, I was with 2nd Platoon, Hotel Company. As you probably know we made a defensive line in the middle of Balamer. We, uh, were at the Inner Harbor and me and two others were actually in the Marianas, advancing into the Russian lines.

CPL Strife: Then how the hell did you end up all the way out here?

SPC Kerrigan: We advanced pretty far through some gaps in the Russian lines. We took heavy fire and the two guys were wounded. I managed to get an evac chopper for them which took me as well. We passed over the suburbs on the way to the hospital. From the air, I saw, uh, a couple of civilians stretched out on the streets. The chopper came down, and I helped the wound civvies on board. One of the civvies said there were some girls trapped in a demolished house. I ran to the house and got them out, but by the time we got back to the chopper, the Russians were closing in on it. The chopper took a lot of fire and had to take off . . . so the chopper left me and the three girls in the suburbs, surrounded by Russians. Yeah, so that's how I got here.

PVT Gallen: . . . So, what now? I mean, what are we gonna do?

PFC Barton: Yeah, we—[_Noticing Strife's bleeding face_] Um Strife, I think this is a good time to clean you up.

CPL Strife: [_Dismissively_] Barton, I'm fine.

SPC Fuentes: No you're not, you look a mess! Listen to her.

I didn't feel like arguing with two women at the same time, if you know what I mean. We went over to what remained of the living room and sat down so Barton could treat me. She washed the blood off my face, and examined what was left of my left ear. Every time she touched my ear, a sharp twinge of pain went through my head.

CPL Strife: How bad is it Doc? And don't lie to me either.

PFC Barton: I'm probably just telling you what you already know, but the complete upper part of your left ear is blown off. Your ear is almost dangling from your face.

CPL Strife: Great . . .

PFC Barton: How is your hearing? Can you hear anything from your left ear?

CPL Strife: Uh, kinda. I can hear you talk but it's kind of muffled really. It's like I have water trapped in my ear you know?

PFC Barton: Okay, that's good. It's better than you being completely deaf in your left ear. I'm still going to put a bandage over your ear okay?

CPL Strife: Whatever you say Doc.

PFC Barton: Now open your left eye Strife.

CPL Strife: I can't.

PFC Barton: You can't or you won't.

CPL Strife: . . . I won't. It freakin' stings.

PFC Barton: Okay, just try to open your eyes.

I sighed and slowly begin to crack open my eye. As soon as I made a crack in my eyes, the burning and sharp sensation in my returned. I tried harder to open my eye, but the pain kept increasing. I couldn't take the pain and I shut my eye again.

CPL Strife: I can't, I'm sorry.

PFC Barton: Don't worry, at least you can open your eyes. What does the pain feel like?

CPL Strife: It's like a burning sting.

PFC Barton: [_To herself_] Hope there's no optic nerve damage . . . All I can do is treat the graze from the bullet on your face. Can you keep your left eye shut?

CPL Strife: You bet; I can do it so long that I don't even have to think about it.

CW2 Bullock: Once the Corporal gets patched up, we're heading to the city.

SPC Fuentes: What? You mean . . . just us?

CW2 Bullock: We have to stop the Russians from advancing further into Baltimore.

SPC Kerrigan: Chief, I don't think the six of us can go back in there in our condition. Strife here is blind in one eye; Fuentes and I are down to last piece of ammo. How are you all situated with ammo?

PVT Gallen: We all got one mag left, except for Strife, he's out.

CW2 Bullock: Fine, then what do the rest of you suggest?

SPC Kerrigan: Man I say that we get the hell of out dodge! Let's head back to the base.

CW2 Bullock: You want us to retreat?

SPC Kerrigan: Okay fine, [_Making air quotes_] "We're not retreating; we're advancing in a different direction!" If that makes you feel better?

CPL Strife: I gotta agree with Kerrigan, Chief. Judging by all accounts that I have heard; the Russians have **locked down** the suburbs all across Baltimore. They're most likely using the suburbs to guard the flanks of the city. If we head to Downtown or any other places in the city via the suburbs we will most likely run into numerous ambushes. Chief, we have to turn back, and wait for reinforcements.

SPC Fuentes: That's not going to happen . . .

CPL Strife: What are you talking about Carlina?

SPC Fuentes: . . . Well, uh, you see . . . On our way to scoop up the VIPs, I was with my platoon commander, Lieutenant Keighley, and he told us what Major McBride told him. Basically . . . We are not the only ones who have problems with the Russians.

PVT Gallen: Yeah we know, the Russians are landing everywhere across the East Coast.

SPC Fuentes: Well, that's close to the point. But what I meant was in Maryland. Baltimore is not their only target. An entire Russian brigade landed in Annapolis, Germantown, Columbia, and Silver Spring. The 175th are fighting off a brigade in Pikesville, the 115th is being beaten back by an armored Russian battalion near Greenbelt. Our National Guard is spread very thin.

SPC Kerrigan: Wait, the Russians have fuckin' armor on the ground?!

SPC Fuentes: They do, and Echo and Foxtrot Company are cut off from I-395, and are being bombarded by Russian jets.

CPL Strife: Oh fuckin' Christ . . .

SPC Fuentes: And it gets worse—

SPC Kerrigan: How the fuck can it get worse?!

SPC Fuentes: The Russian jets kicked off the invasion pretty hard for us. Their first targets were major Air Force installations—

PFC Barton: Oh no . . .

SPC Fuentes: They completely destroyed Dover, Bolling, and Andrew's Air Force bases . . . before any of our planes even left the ground.

PVT Gallen: [_Throwing hands in the air_] Oh fuck!

CPL Strife: [_Sarcastically_] Oh okay I understand, we have no air support, that's fantastic! Fan-fuckin'-tastic!

SPC Kerrigan: So yer basically sayin' . . . we're on our own.

CW2 Bullock: [_Silently contemplating for a minute_] Okay, I know what we have to do. In light of the new details, I think it's best if we head back to HQ. Everyone get up, let's hurry up before the Russians begin to swarm us.

All: Yes Chief!

CW2 Bullock: Hey Gallen, let me talk to you outside.

Barton helped me up to my feet and examined my new bandaged face as she carefully placed my helmet on. I don't know why though, but I wanted to check up to see what Bullock could possibly talk to Gallen about. If there was any info he had to tell, he would have to tell me since I was the second highest ranked soldier present. I walked out the door, and I observed the two of them just standing there chatting.

Out of nowhere, Bullock sucker punched Gallen right in the jaw sending him careening to the ground. Gallen looked up at his attacker, holding his mouth, frightened of the Chief.

CW2 Bullock: [_Firmly_] If you ever go against my order or curse me out again, I'll kill you!

Gallen, nod his head, still silent from the blow. Bullock face was contorted with anger even after he spat his threat. He then raised his head and finally noticed me. And with anger still on his face, he made his threat to me:

CW2 Bullock: That goes for you too Corporal! Now Gallen get the fuck up and let's go!

I walked over to Gallen and helped him up as Chief left us. I told Gallen to shake it off and forget what happened. Discipline held me back from going off on the Chief. It was obvious that Chief held grudges and had authority issues. We had to keep an eye out on him.*


	5. Bodymore

After we left the house, we made some great progress in navigating through the subdivision. We didn't encounter any Russians for the rest of the day. We did however come across the bodies of three Guardsmen killed in an ambush. They had numerous holes shot into their bodies, it was fucking overkill. We took what ammo we could get from them and distributed it equally; it wasn't a lot but it was better than nothing.

But by the time we actually left the neighborhood, the sun was already setting. Bullock had the idea of hunkering down for the night, but none of us wanted to return to that fucking nightmare of a neighborhood. We came to a consensus that we would all search for shelter on the way back to HQ. We turned on our night vision goggles and carefully went through the woods instead of following the street; where the Russians could ambush any American unit that wandered through.

After carefully wandering through the dark woods for half an hour; we came upon a lone house near the end of the woods; Bullock decided we would hole up there. We approached the house casually until we noticed a body on the front steps. He was an American; he was a young, black man with long, nappy dreads and was lying outside of his door with a Glock in his hands. The front of the house was riddled with bullets; this man was cut down in front of his house.

We cautiously stacked up beside the front door preparing to breach, we couldn't risk entering a house with possible Russians inside. Gallen was the first to breach the bullet-riddled home, and I followed him in. The place was empty and was in shambles, DVDs were all over the floor, food and drinks were lying outside the fridge; it seems that the Russians who killed the man entered his house and searched it from top to bottom. Regardless of the mess, there were no Russians, the house was clear.

PVT Gallen: House clear.

CW2 Bullock: Alright, I need someone to pull rear security by the back door.

SPC Fuentes: I'll guard the back Chief.

PVT Gallen: I'll guard the front door.

CW2 Bullock: Okay . . . this house seems secure. We'll hole up here for the night. Let's find some supplies here.

PFC Barton: God, this place looks awful.

PVT Gallen: The Russians must have turned this whole place upside down looking for shit.

SPC Kerrigan: That'll explain why all the beer and liquor is gone from the fridge.

SPC Fuentes: Found anything useful?

SPC Kerrigan: Naw, these goggles ain't 100% clear in the dark, it would be easier if the lights were on.

CW2 Bullock: Now you know we can't risk turning the lights on, we just have to remain here in the dark.

SPC Kerrigan: I know Chief . . . well at least this guy had some Caribbean rum that the Russians didn't take. Hey, who wants a swig?

CW2 Bullock: Specialist, this is hardly—

SPC Kerrigan: Relax Chief, it's not gonna kill anyone, besides . . . it seems like there's half a bottle left, enough for all of us. Here take a swig Fuentes.

SPC Fuentes: Not now Kerrigan, it's not . . . well you know . . .

SPC Kerrigan: You know what they say Fuentes, "If you can't fight 'em drunk, then don't fight them at all."

SPC Fuentes: . . . Fine, give it here [_receives the bottle and takes a few sips_] Oh damn, wow that burns.

SPC Kerrigan: Yeah, that's the fun part. Alright guys, I'm moving to the front. Chief, I'm heading straight towards you.

CW2 Bullock: Don't give me any, Specialist. I need my senses right now.

SPC Kerrigan: Relax Chief, it's not enough to get you wasted, hell it ain't enough to get you buzzed, well maybe; that depends on this. Just take a shot; it's not going to kill you Chief.

CW2 Bullock: I said no.

SPC Kerrigan: Just do it Chief, what's the worse that will happen. All we're doing is just sharing a drink between Guardsmen, that's all. We're not getting drunk; we're just sharing a drink in "camaraderie" of sorts and all that bullshit.

CW2 Bullock: . . . Ah shit, you are a good bullshiter Specialist, give me the bottle, after today I need a frickin' drink [_Gets his sip of the liquor_] Wow, that's really good rum.

SPC Kerrigan: See? Not that bad Chief. Now on to you kid, drink up, it'll put hair on your chest.

PVT Gallen: Hey man, I'm pretty hairy on my chest; it's like a carpet down there!

SPC Kerrigan: [_Eyeing Gallen up and down, unimpressed_] . . . Uh-huh . . . that so? Then do it. Drink it, don't be a little bitch! Take a sip.

PVT Gallen: Down the hatch. [_Chugs the bottle but quickly puts it down and coughs so hard that tears roll down his face_] Ooohhh boy!

SPC Kerrigan: Hahaha, Jesus Christ, I said take a sip, not a gulp! You never drank have you, you don't chug this if you're sober, you only chug heavy shit like this if you're off your ass wasted.

PFC Barton: Are you okay Gallen?

PVT Gallen: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm cool. It's just . . . Goddamn, my chest, throat, and stomach feels like it's on fire.

SPC Kerrigan: Oh that'll wear off in no time you little pussy. And now it's your turn Doc, make us proud.

PFC Barton: Okay, I can do this. [_She lightly sips from the bottle_] Whoooooooh! I never had rum before, that was strong.

SPC Kerrigan: Right? Okay I saved the last for the man who pulled me out of the rubble. C'mon Strife, bottom's up.

CPL Strife: No.

SPC Kerrigan: C'mon Strife, we all had a swig! I took some before I gave it to Fuentes. C'mon Strife, let's share a drink, between all of us.

CPL Strife: [_Slightly annoyed_] I'm not drinking, Kerrigan.

SPC Kerrigan: Well, will you at least take an itsy-bitsy sip? Just to say that we saw you do it? Hey who knows, maybe that'll heal the scar on your face?

CPL Strife: [_Disturbed_] Man, what the fuck is the matter with you?

SPC Kerrigan: What?

CPL Strife: The Russians fucking invaded the U.S., they apparently have an endless supply of reinforcements, our Army is disorganized as fuck and we're losing! How the fuck does that justify drinking and cracking jokes?! This isn't the damn time for this shit!

PFC Barton: Calm down Strife. He didn't mean—

CPL Strife: I don't give a shit Barton! I'm tired of everyone acting casual like nothing is going on! We just entered a murdered man's home and we're eating and drinking his stuff! And yet you can act so casual in all of this! Kerrigan, my family's in Manhattan, the first place where the Russians attacked! How dare you fucking act casual while everyone we know and love are dying!

SPC Kerrigan: [_Puts the bottle down and takes off his night vision in a serious manner] _Strife, let me tell you something. I was born and raised in Balamer. Born and raised in this city man. I lived over at Fells Point; right next to the waterfront of Inner Harbor. Man, my family, we spent a hell of a lot of time over at the Harbor. We did everything; we ate down at Ol' Arthur's' Blue Crab Shack and enjoyed crabs all day long; we would go to see the house of Edgar Allen Roe, you see my older sister loved his poetry, so she would drag me along all the time; we would also go to the National Aquarium and walk over to Bamden Yards and watch baseball; and during Halloween we would go that spooky ship, the USS Constellation. Those were all fond memories, and now, you know what Strife? All of those places are burning heaps of rubble. I saw what the Russians did; they used timeless and wonderful attractions as bunkers and command post. Do you know how it feels to shoot at your childhood memories? But that's not the worse part. I understand that you're afraid of not knowing what happened to your family in New York. But Strife . . . do you know what's worse than being a hundred miles away from your family and you can't do anything? IT'S BEING ONLY FIVE MINUTES AWAY AND YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING! I was literally only five fucking minutes away from my parent's house! Five fucking minutes! I could have ran over there to check up on them and then ran back to fight! But I couldn't! I saw Russians rushing out of my neighborhood! And if that wasn't enough, later I had three teenage girls I failed to protect! They all burned to death! I was buried underneath rubble and listened to Sierra scream until she died! Do you know how any of that feels like? Being so close, yet unable to do anything?! . . . Give me a FUCKIN' answer!

CPL Strife: . . .

SPC Kerrigan: . . . When I was kid, I had a serious anger issue, like if some kid cut in front me in the line to recess, I would be punching the kid's light out. But my dad, he helped me out. He was a very wise man, best father in the world. He taught me not to dwell on miniscule things and that if something gets me truly angry, I cannot have it cloud my judgment. I still get angry, a lot, but I never truly act out on it. Is this invasion pissing me off? Hell fucking yeah! Do I hate the Russians! With a motherfucking passion! But, I just listen to what my father told me, I cannot dwell on it, if I do, then I just become blind with anger. And in order for all of us to survive, we cannot be blind to emotion. We need all of our eyes open to escape this crisis. Strife, I want to go back and look for my parents, but I know . . . I-I-I have a job to do and my dad would want me to do my job. Besides, he's resourceful; he can get out of Balamer. Forgive me if I seem callous or cold to the fact of the invasion; but keep in mind, I have the whole city in my thoughts, this is my home, and I can never forget that.

Man, I felt like such an asshole. I had no idea Kerrigan felt that way, from what I had initially gathered, it seemed like he didn't care all that much of our situation. I don't know why I completely snapped at him. Maybe I was just being immature. I felt angry and disappointed that we couldn't anything against the Russians and maybe, I just wanted everyone to feel just as angry as I was. Kerrigan made me realize that everyone was just as angry as I was. They were just as pissed off that the Russians were here killing people and killing all of us soldiers.

After a moment of silence, Kerrigan put his hand on my shoulder and offered the bottle to me. I took a few seconds to think about it, but I still refused the bottle. He shrugged, and then downed the rest of the bottle.

CPL Strife: Thanks anyway man, and look I'm sorry man, I didn't—

SPC Kerrigan: It's cool man, I understand. [_Chuckling_] I wanna apologize too, hon. For me giving that cliché-assed rant.

CPL Strife: It's cool. Was that the last bottle he had?

SPC Kerrigan: Yep, all he had in the fridge was that, some apple juice, some fruit punch, cold pizza, some chicken wings, grapes, peaches, and sandwich making stuff.

PFC Barton: Wow, all a sudden I feel a bit hungry.

PVT Gallen: Same here, hey, can you make us a sandwich.

SPC Kerrigan: Sure . . . what kind of sandwich?

It really is surprising how short soldiers' attention spans are.

PVT Gallen: Gimme, ham on wheat bread with tomatoes, lettuce, American cheese, with a half and half of mayo and mustard. And if possible can it be lightly microwaved.

SPC Kerrigan: Want some fries with that?

CW2 Bullock: Hey shut up, I'm trying to find out where we are.

CPL Strife: Hmm, this place looks a little familiar; I think we're near the east side of Baltimore.

CW2 Bullock: Well I wanna be 100% sure where we are? I'm guessing the guy didn't have a map anywhere here.

PVT Gallen: . . . Wait, he probably had a smartphone right? That probably has a GPS on it.

CW2 Bullock: Okay then, we got to find it in the house. Where would it most likely be?

CPL Strife: In, his pockets.

PVT Gallen: Alright, I'm gonna head out and search his pockets.

PFC Barton: Oh no you're not. You gotta watch the front, I'll go look for it.

PVT Gallen: Barton you don't have to, I will go—

PFC Barton: No, no, no. I'm going. Don't worry, just watch my back. Can you do that for me Gallen?

PVT Gallen: Yeah, I will. Just hurry it up.

Barton quickly but quietly crept outside the door and ran over to the deceased man. She rummaged through his pockets and pulled out the man's smart phone and ran back inside the house.

PFC Barton: I got it Chief!

CW2 Bullock: Good, turn on the GPS app.

PFC Barton: Okay hold on . . . Damn it! It needs a passcode.

CPL Strife: Why am I not surprised.

PVT Gallen: Hold on a sec, Barton, please give me the phone.

PFC Barton: Here you go, what are you trying to do?

PVT Gallen: . . . Yep this is the perfect smartphone. Oh, I'm about to jailbreak the phone.

PFC Barton: You know how to do that?

PVT Gallen: Yeah, it's pretty easy with all the new version of these phones. You just gotta type in four duplicates numbers starting from 0 to 9 and after that you type in any number that has a 0 in the front and back of the combination. You do that until it says locked for 5 hours, then you take the battery out and put it back in to reboot it. Once rebooted, you just type in 0000 and boom, the phone's unlocked!

SPC Fuentes: [_Teasingly_] Nerrrrrrrdddddd!

PVT Gallen: Haha, yeah, I kinda wasn't the most popular kid in school.

CPL Strife: Wow, I _can't_ believe it. That is _so_ shocking.

CW2 Bullock: How long will that take Private?

PVT Gallen: Eh, two minutes at the most.

SPC Kerrigan: Thank God techno-geek is here.

PFC Barton: I don't know, it's kinda cute being a bit tech savvy.

PVT Gallen: [_Slightly blushing_] Really, you think so?

CPL Strife: Christ Gallen, how many phones have you hacked in your day?

PVT Gallen: [_Suspiciously_] What are you talking about man? I never did such thing—

CPL Strife: If you know how to hack a smartphone, then that means that you were most likely anti-social in high school. Since you were so unpopular, you probably got shot down by women and were made fun of, which case they never invited you to anything. You probably also rode the bus as well in which you were probably picked on the bus as well. Wanting revenge you probably learned how to hack phones to either ruin the popular kids' phone, prank text/call them, or read personal stuff on their phones. You were just a short, little, awkward nerd who hacked other's phone because you were too much of a pussy to go stand up for yourself.

PVT Gallen: . . . All right this getting a little too personal . . .

SPC Kerrigan: [_Chuckling_] Looks like somebody majored in Psychology.

PVT Gallen: Okay, I unlocked the phone.

CW2 Bullock: Finally! Okay Private, where are we?

PVT Gallen: . . . Um, hold on this thing is loading . . . okay, okay, it says that we are near the southern outskirts of Four by Four . . .

SPC Fuentes: Wait, did you say we're at Four by Four?

SPC Kerrigan: I had no idea we wandered this far into East Balamer unintentionally.

SPC Fuentes: And we didn't encounter a single Russian.

CW2 Bullock: They must be as spread thin as we are.

CPL Strife: That or they already moved most of their troops to the front line near the Harbor.

CW2 Bullock: Change of plans people; instead of heading back to HQ, we need to do what we can to reinforce the American lines from Druid Hill Park to the Harbor.

SPC Kerrigan: What? Now why we goin' there, we need to head back to the HQ, ASAP.

CW2 Bullock: We have to stop the Russian advance—

CPL Strife: With just the six of us?

CW2 Bullock: We can—

CPL Strife: Chief, we have no support whatsoever, we have no heavy weapons, our radios don't work, and we're low on ammo. There is no way we can help reinforce the line in our condition. Chief, we have to head south to reach HQ so we can at least be organized and regroup. The closer south we get, the more likely we will reach friendlies.

CW2 Bullock: I'm still saying we should at least try heading west to reinfo—

CPL Strife: Hey Gallen, I forgot, what's south of Four by Four?

PVT Gallen: Oh . . . um, a large neighborhood called Berea.

CPL Strife: Oh boy . . .

SPC Kerrigan: Aw shit . . .

PVT Gallen: Wait what's wrong?

SPC Kerrigan: You're new to this city right Gallen?

PVT Gallen: Yeah I am. Why?

SPC Kerrigan: Berea is a heavily Black community that is notorious for being a hornet's nest of trouble. Gangs, drugs, military grade weapons roll up through there; The Berea Boys gang lives there. That part of Balamer is "The Hood".

PVT Gallen: "The Berea Boys"?

SPC Kerrigan: They're a vicious street gang in Berea, as the name suggest. They're gang color is red for the blood of their rivals that are spilled. They're one of the most dangerous gangs in Balamer.

PFC Barton: You see Gallen, Berea is a very rough place; the police have their own sort of "maxim" with Berea. "If there has been a couple of murders, do not enter without anything less than a platoon."

CPL Strife: Berea is crime incarnate in the East District . . . which could be used to our advantage.

SPC Kerrigan: Wait, I don't follow.

SPC Fuentes: Hey, if y'all talking about Berea, I heard that initial paratroopers met some fierce resistance in some parts of Berea; and it wasn't from any Guardsmen or police.

SPC Kerrigan: So you tellin' me that we should head through Berea just on a simple hunch that civvies who are gangbangers are still in the fight?

CPL Strife: You got any fucking better ideas Kerrigan?

SPC Kerrigan: Nope, sounds good.

CPL Strife: What do you think Chief?

CW2 Bullock: Let's go to Berea, I have some friends there.

We rested for the night and while taking shifts we watched the house until it was around 0530 when it was sunrise. We raided the man's fridge and ate as much food as we could and decided to head out. As we left the house, we took one last look at the owner who was still laid out in front of his door.

PFC Barton: He deserved better than this.

SPC Fuentes: Yeah, they all do.

We walked for about a good 40 minutes until we entered Berea. As we walked deep in the neighborhood, the scenery was the same as anywhere else in Baltimore: numerous bodies lying everywhere, cut down to pieces as they were fleeing; houses, cars, streets, riddled with bullets; dried blood staining the grass and sidewalks; some houses and cars on fire; but what was worse this day was that bodies began to bloat (and some bodies were already beginning to decay slightly) at a rapid pace under the 94*F summer heat of Baltimore. Their bloodless, pale bodies began to turn black as flies began circling around their corpses eating their flesh and reproducing at an alarming rate. Some of the bodies belonging to kids began to shrivel as their stomachs expanded grotesquely to the verge of bursting. The smell . . . oh Jesus the smell.

Let me correct myself, the smell itself was the worst part of the day. The smell of death corrupted everything; the air, our clothes, vehicles, and pavement. And everything in Berea smelled of death. And as the days progressed in Baltimore, the stench of rotting corpses exploded in magnitude. I could hear Carlina gagging on the foul air and nearly puking. I remember Kerrigan, who was on point, stopped in front of a couple dead Berea Boys gang members and took their bandanas and gave it to each of us as masks to counter the smell, it helped, but not that much.

There was no escaping this never ending carnage of human savagery, looking back on it now, how could we as human beings be so depraved as that we can view in our minds that killing innocents is acceptable? What I fear the most is that once we invade Russia, and God I hope so, that we would perform heinous acts worse than the Russians inflicted upon us.

_~Ratatatatatatatatatatatatata-tatatatatatatatatata!~_ The sounds of a machine gun fires off in the distant.

CPL Strife: Whoa, where is that coming?

PVT Gallen: What the hell _is _that?

_~Ratatatatatatatatat-atatatatatatatatatatatata-tatatatatatatata!~_

CW2 Bullock: . . . Sounds like an Uzi to me.

_~Ratatatattatatatatatata! POW! POW! POW! POW! Ratatatatatatatatatatatatatatata!~_

SPC Fuentes: . . . They also got some pistols with them.

_~Ratatatat-tatatattata! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! Ratatatatatatatatatatata!~ _Then, different cracks of weapons echoed, and in a different rhythm: _~Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-tatata-ta-ta-ta-ta-tata-ta! TATATA-TATATA-TATA-TA-TA-TA-TATATA!~_

PFC Barton: . . . Those are AKs and RPKs!

SPC Fuentes: Looks like the civvies are fighting back against the Russians huh?

CW2 Bullock: Sounds like they may need our help, let's go!

We moved out in a staggered column on the main street, and for a bonus, all the abandoned cars on the road provided us with good defilades. Kerrigan then halted our movement and told us to get down. Kerrigan noticed two bodies approximately 15 meters in front of us that didn't quite belong. He had us move carefully towards the bodies and behold our eyes; we see that they're two dead Russians. Their body armor was missing along with their rifles, grenades, ammo, and combat knives. The civvies completely stripped them of their armaments. But man, these fuckers were mangled, one Russian had his whole torso filled with bullet holes and had one bullet to the head; while the other had three bullets in his side and was missing half his head. Carlina got down to her knees and began whispering to the corpses.

SPC Fuentes: I hoped it hurt . . . because you fuckers got what you deserved . . . we're going to kill all of you for what you did.

Then I heard someone shouting from the distance. It came to our right, where the street turned to the right. I looked up over the cars we were hiding behind and I see these three young, black civvies running in our direction, full sprint. All three were armed; two with pistols and one with an Uzi.

CPL Strife: Hey guys, I see three civvies headin' right towards us!

CW2 Bullock: . . . Looks like they're running from something.

PVT Gallen: They're probably running from the Russians, I'm gonna wave to them.

Gallen extended his hand from behind the car and waved to the rushing civvies, but they didn't notice. A burst of AK fire erupted from behind the civvies, one of them was hit in the back and collapsed. Eight Russians were closing in on the three young men from the street on the right approximately 75 to 80 meters away. The civvie armed with an Uzi fired off a whole magazine at the Russians but failed to hit one. The civvie began pleading with the wounded one to stay alive. The civvies were about 25 to 30 meters from us.

PFC Barton: Hey get over behind the cars! We can help you! We're American soldiers!

Civilian 2: What?! Who said that?!

PFC Barton: We did! We are behind the cars! We're American soldiers!

Civilian 2: Fuck you bitch! Y'all probably them fuckin' Russians!

CW2 Bullock: If we were Russians, then you wouldn't be talking right now!

Civilian 1: Fuck it man! Jacob, help me pick Rallo up!

The two men grabbed their wounded friend and ran behind the cars we were behind, while a hundred bullets were cracking against the road and cars. Barton ordered the two men to drop their friend to her.

Civilian 2: Shit, you guys are soldiers?

PVT Gallen: Yep, we're Americans.

Civilian 1: Soldiers . . . Man, where the fuck y'all been?! We fuckin' needed yo asses here yesterday!

CW2 Bullock: Listen son, we'll talk about it later!

Civilian 2: Hey, what'cha doin' to Rallo?

PFC Barton: I'm helping him, I'm a medic. I can save his life!

Rallo: [_Panicking_] Aaaahhh -wh-wha-what? You can help me? This shit hurts!

PFC Barton: Relax Rallo, please stop moving. I know it hurts, but I can't fix you if you move.

A few more bullets cracked against the roof of the car I was behind. Suddenly the fire stopped; I peered underneath the car and I could see that Russians began talking to each and began laughing. Five of the eight began smugly walking towards the car with their rifles at the hip. They were expecting to finish off the three men with relative ease; but they didn't know about the heavily armed soldiers behind the cars. I motioned to Bullock to look underneath the car. He took a quick peek and silently motioned for all of us, except Barton, and he included the two civilians, that on his signal we would pop up and engage the Russians. We let the Russians get closer until they were about 15 meters from us; then Bullock gave the signal and we all popped up. Man, we cut those fuckers to pieces; as our bullets entered them, their arms began flailing in the air as they fell screaming.

The squad began firing at the three Russians at the far back as they fired at us. As I was shooting at them, I noticed one of the five Russians that were caught in our surprise attack, got up and limped away helmetless and weaponless, towards a liquor store. I fired a few good burst at him, but he escaped inside the liquor store. I ran towards the liquor store and entered it. But I made a potentially fatal mistake. I failed to check my corners.

I entered the station with my rifle raised; but the Russian was waiting for me. He came out charging from my right side, out of my peripheral vision. With his left hand, he lowered my rifle and in his right hand he held a combat knife coming right for throat. By God-given luck, I somehow moved my head towards the left. The tip of the knife sliced across my right cheek, and I felt the same stinging, burning, pain as I had when I was shot in my eye.

I dropped my rifle in surprise and I quickly locked both his arms together with my arms, he couldn't escape my grasp. With my helmet on, I delivered four, hard, consecutive headbutts to his face, breaking his nose. The stunned and groggy Russian was leaning back as I still grabbed on to his arms; I then performed a textbook Judo hip toss and threw him to the floor, making him lose his knife. But while on the floor, the Russian kicked me directly in the knee; if I was a few inches closer to him, he would have broken my knee for certain. I fell backwards to the ground shouting and cursing in pain.

The Russian then noticed my rifle that I dropped and began crawling towards the rifle. I pulled out my knife and got to my feet and hobbled after him. I dived on top of his back and tried to stick him in his neck, but he instinctively guarded his neck and began delivering elbows to my face until he knocked me off of him. He got on top of me and began punching me in the face, I blindly swung at him with the knife, he caught my hand and stole my knife. He tried to bring the knife down on my neck but I grabbed his hands and we began wrestling for control of the knife. In the scuffle, I saw that there was a dead cashier lying next to us with a .44 Magnum in his hands.

With all my strength, I pushed the Russian off of me and scrambled towards the cashier and pried the .44 out of his hand. The Russian got to his feet and came at me again with the knife a few feet away from me, but I was quicker on the draw. I turned around and fired point-blank and got him in the stomach. He collapsed to floor and shouted in pain. I flipped him over on his back and got on top of him and stuck my barrel into the Russian's face.

Russian: _Nyet! Nyet! Nyet! _Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Please! No make dead! No make dead!

CPL Strife: No make dead?

Russian: Y-yes! N-n-n-no make dead! Please! Uh . . . w-w-w-w-w-w-we talk . . . ?

Talk? After that fucker tried to kill me, and after I turned the tables on him, he wanted to talk? After probably killing most of those innocents in the neighborhood, he wanted to talk? Why the hell did he want to talk, when so many others were killed without them saying a word?! I'm sure all those dead Americans would wanted to "talk" before they were gunned down like animals! This man . . . no this fucking monster disgusted me beyond all recognition.

CPL Strife: Oh . . . so, you, you want . . . you want to talk?

Russian: Yes! Please!

CPL Strife: We talk, right?

Russian: Yes, please, we talk like . . . civilized people.

CPL Strife: . . . "Civilized" . . . hmm, that's interesting . . . you want to live?

Russian: Yes I want to live!

I plunged the fingers of my left hand deep into his stomach wound and expanded the wound. That Russian hollered at the top of his lungs so hard I'm pretty sure dogs could hear him scream. I quickly placed the barrel of the .44 Magnum, Dirty Harry's famous revolver, in his mouth and pulled the hammer back. The Russian's eyes grew to size of cue balls. I was seething with anger and I made sure that bastard knew it.

CPL Strife: [_Slowly_] Oh yeah? If God wanted you to live, he would not have created **me**.

I blew the top of his head clean off. I pulled the Magnum out of his mouth and opened the cylinder; there were only two rounds in the Magnum. I collected my helmet and my rifle, but before I left, I walked back over to the Russian and spat on the motherfucker. I left the liquor store and returned to the group.

SPC Fuentes: There you are Floyd, where did you—Oh dear God! What happened to your face **this** time?!

CPL Strife: I followed a Russian in that liquor store.

SPC Kerrigan: You couldn't have just used a grenade?

CPL Strife: [_To himself_] . . . Oh my God, you know, that would have been much easier.

SPC Kerrigan: Damn Strife, you're a pro at getting your ass kicked; and your face is proof of it!

CPL Strife: Shut up Kerrigan.

Civilian 1: Hey what's wrong with Rallo, Doc?! He's ain't lookin' well!

PFC Barton: It's okay, I administered a small dose of morphine. He's just calming down. How do you feel Rallo?

Rallo: Ugh . . . it doesn't hurt as much, but it's hard to breathe like a muthafucka Doc!

PFC Barton: Just relax, you're doing fine Rallo.

CW2 Bullock: Where's he hit?

PFC Barton: He's hit twice, one in the sternum and the other somewhere in the back. He only has one exit wound which means he has another bullet still in his body. I think it's near his ribcage, but it doesn't seem like it punctured a lung. But we have to get him somewhere safer than stay out here to help him. Do you two have a place where we can go?

Civilian 1: Yeah, we do, there's Big Ro's place that we just came from.

PVT Gallen: Big Ro?

Civilian 2: Yeah, he's Rallo big brother. We got about 40 people in this closed apartment building by 27th Lincoln.

CPL Strife: Where is that?

Civilian 2: 'Bout five minutes down the road that we came runnin' down from.

CW2 Bullock: Okay then, who are you guys?

Civilian 1: Well, I'm Deon, and this is Jacob.

CW2 Bullock: Alright, we gotta move; Strife, Kerrigan, you two carry Rallo. Fuentes, Gallen, you two scout out in front with Jacob and Deon.

Deon: Wait, we can't go yet! We still have to get some supplies!

Jacob: Oh shit that's right! Hold up, this will only take about two minutes.

The two guys ran inside the liquor store and later exited with backpacks filled with food and water. By the time we were ready, I picked up Rallo by his upper body and Kerrigan lifted him by his legs and we all headed out with Barton sticking close to Rallo. We passed by some of the Russians we killed, Jacob and Deon went ahead and field stripped them of their rifles, shoved all their grenades, ammo, and med kits down their already stuffed backpacks. Once they were done, both of them were carrying four to five slung AKs and RPKs over their shoulders.

CW2 Bullock: Why y'all wasting time collecting all this stuff?

Jacob: Cause this is why we out here right now! We got 'bout 40 people surrounded in an abandoned apartment buildun and we runnin' out of food and water. And we also low on bullets and guns ya know what I mean? Big Ro sent us out to scavenge and shit like that.

CW2 Bullock: Just you three huh?

Deon: . . . No, we had four more . . . them fuckin' Russians killed them as we left the building.

CW2 Bullock: I'm sorry son.

Jacob: Hold up, we're here!

Jacob and Deon had us line up next to a large stone wall that outlined the street. The street turned to the right where the apartment building was. Jacob took a peek out the side of the wall.

Jacob: Okay, looks clear.

CW2 Bullock: Alright let's move!

Deon: Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up sir! We can't go through now! The Russians have snipers and machineguns watching the building at all times.

Jacob: Dat how we lost the other guys sir.

SPC Fuentes: What happened?

Jacob: We made a run for it . . . and, the Russians blasted at us wit machine guns. It cut them down . . . Deon, Rallo, and I were fucking lucky dawg.

CPL Strife: Y'all were clustered together weren't you?

Jacob: [_Thinking_]Nah, well I-I-I mean, I don't know, maybe?

Deon: Yeah, we were close together.

CPL Strife: Anyway, can we get in there?

Deon: No, we cain't move yet. We keep the door on lock at all times.

Jacob: Hold up for a sec y'all, I gotta make a call to them on the inside so they can open that dooh.

Deon: Big Ro ain't gonna like what he hears.

Jacob: [_On the phone_] Yo! Yo Felix, ya there? It's me Jacob, we back at the building, we behind the wall to ya, uh, the right of the building . . . Ya see me? . . . I'm wavin' my hand now . . . Ya see me right? . . . A'ight cool, hurry up and get the dooh unlocked for us. Hey we got some food, water, choppas, and ammo . . . Yeah, yeah, and we also picked up some soldiers on the way . . . American soldiers dawg . . . AMERICAN soldiers nigga, keep up! . . . Six of 'em . . . Only six . . . I'm just happy some came, ya know da **poh**lice nevuh came for us . . . oh yeah, one other thang . . . shit man, Rallo got shot, you may wanna tell Ro . . . I don't care if ya tell him or not someone has to tell him . . . Okay then, just hurry up with the dooh. Alright see ya in a few, peace. [_Hangs up the phone_] Alright y'all, they gittin' someone on dat dooh.

CW2 Bullock: Let me take a look at the building . . . okay, let's see . . . hmm, and you say that the Russians are constantly targeting that building?

Deon: Yes sir! We have our building down on lock! But they got all their guns trained on us.

CW2 Bullock: I see . . . then we can't move out in a group at once, we'll be cut to pieces. We can't move one-by-one we have too many people. We move two-by-two, five yards apart; we'll have no cover and we'll need to move straight towards the door. Gallen, you and Deon here will move first, once you guys reach the door, you'll be the base of fire for the rest of us.

Jacob: Um, I'm Jacob. And what's a "base of fire".

CW2 Bullock: Simply put Jacob, you fire your Uzi at anything that shoots at us. Strife and Kerrigan, you're second, you better haul ass with Rallo here. Barton and Deon will be next, leaving Fuentes and I pulling up the rear. We all got the game plan?

All: Yes sir!

CPL Strife: How you feeling Rallo?

Rallo: Uncomfortable sir, my back feels weird, it's still hard to breathe, and I feel like I'm barbecuing on the inside.

Deon: Relax bruh, we almost there. Just hang tight.

Jacob: Great, they got the dooh open. It's now or never sir.

CW2 Bullock: Alright you two get ready.

Gallen: Okay Jacob, don't stick too close me, we can't be a big target. Let's do this.

CW2 Bullock: Go!

Gallen and Jacob made a 55 meter dash from the wall and safely made it to the door of the apartment building. Gallen and Jacob then formed up a base of fire next to the door. It was our turn now.

CW2 Bullock: Okay guys get ready . . . Go!

Kerrigan and I ran out as fast as we can while carrying Rallo. That small little dash seemed pretty far away. Whilst sprinting, I noticed the bodies of various Americans and some Russians littered the grounds in front of the building. There really was never escaping the bodies in Baltimore.

_~CRACK!~_

A spurt of blood shot up from Rallo's chest as a sniper's bullet's entered his left pectoral. A sudden volley of Russian machinegun fire cracked around our feet and tripped us up. Kerrigan and I collapsed from the sudden onslaught as we dropped Rallo on the hard bloodstained street. About a hundred bullets bounced off the ground and cracked near our heads.

CPL Strife: Fuck!

SPC Kerrigan: Strife, we gotta move!

We ran straight to the door as more bullets were being fired at us. Once we got to the door, I remembered that we left Rallo in the middle of the street. I turn around and I saw that Barton was braving the bullets and was running straight towards Rallo. Once she reached Rallo, she flipped him over and immediately began checking him.

CPL Strife: [_Calling_] Barton move! Get out of the open! Gallen, Jacob, keep up the fire.

Gallen, Jacob, and Kerrigan poured on some covering fire against any target they could find. I ran out back in the open and headed straight towards Barton.

PFC Barton: Strife, he's hurt bad!

CPL Strife: Barton, we have to move! Let's go!

PFC Barton: I'm not leaving him! I can save him, we need to get him inside!

Rallo was hit pretty badly in the chest; he was coughing up and drooling blood. I slung my carbine over my shoulder and I scooped up Rallo in my arms and I carried him back to the building with Barton right behind me. Rallo was a fit young man, but to me who was already tired, carrying him in my arms he might as well been 500 lbs.; but under ferocious fire, I found that I had enough strength to rush him into the building.

CPL Strife: Jacob! Get in the building, where do we have to go?

Jacob: Oh God what happened to Rallo? He a'ight?

PFC Barton: Where the hell do we have to go?!

Jacob: Right, right, right! Follow me! I'll take you to the 5th floor. Most of the supplies are on the 5th floor.

CPL Strife: The 5th floor?! I can't carry him up five flights of stairs!

Jacob: We'll take the elevator!

As soon as we entered the building we were met by a number of people who began crowding us begging to ask us what was going on.

Man: Yo Jacob, what happened out there cuz?

Woman: Who are these guys and who are they carr—is that Rallo?

Man: Oh shit! Rallo's been shot! Hey Bama, Rallo got shot!

Woman: Oh my God that's a lot of blood! Is he gonna die?

PFC Barton: No he's not! Please move out of the way!

Jacob: Okay here's the elevator!

Luckily the elevator was already on the bottom floor and the four of us got on it, as concerned friends and strangers stared at the bleeding body of Rallo as the doors closed on them.

Jacob: Okay, we just gotta go up to the 5th—wait a minute what's wrong with Rallo? Why's he shaking like that?!

CPL Strife: Shit, he's convulsing!

PFC Barton: He's going into shock!

Jacob: Well give 'em some morphine or somethun!

PFC Barton: I am, I am! Okay here we go . . . I administered the morphine. Don't worry Rallo, I'll fix you up good! I promise you'll be fine!

CPL Strife: Where is everybody in this building?

Jacob: The 5th floor, everyone stays up there in a large conference rooms. Well that's where mainly uh . . .

CPL Strife: The gang stays at?

Jacob: Yeah, most of the B. Boys stay in the conference room.

CPL Strife: You have Russian med kits?

Jacob: Yeah I do, in my bag and some are also in the conference room!

CPL Strife: Good, once those doors open, I need you to get as many med kits as possible.

When the doors opened, we ran out of the elevator and Jacob led us to the room. Jacob kicked in the door and we entered into a room full of Berea Boys gang members. Most of them wore their colors; one gangsta wore every article of red clothing from hat to shoes. They were firing out of the windows with automatic weapons. The room itself had hundreds of bullet holes and even a small gaping hole that an RPG round most likely made. In one corner in the room, they had a stockpile of AK-74s, Mossberg shotguns, Uzis, and RPDs; and in another corner there was a stockpile of food and water bottles along with tens of magazines and grenades. These guys really were fortified up in that building.

Out of all these guys, and some women, there was one guy who stood out. He was wearing a red wife-beater and stood at 6'8 and had the figure of a linebacker. He was bald yet he had a thick beard. On his right arm, he had the tattoo that read in cursive, "KEEP WHAT'S YOURS". This guy was the only man in the room that could live up to the name Big Ro, and I was right about that.

Jacob: Hey Ro! Hey Big Ro! Get the med kits now! We need that fuckin' med kit!

Big Ro: What? Jacob? Slow the fuck down nigga! What the fuck you talkin' 'bout? [_Notices Strife and Barton_] These the soldiers you were talkin' 'bout?

Jacob: They are! Come on Ro, we need med kits! They're carryin'—

Big Ro: RALLO! What the fuck happened to him?!

CPL Strife: He got hit by a sniper.

Big Ro: [_Screaming_] Oh no, no, no! Fuck, man fuck! Rallo! Them muthafuckas shot my brutha!

Gang member 1: Shit what happen?

Gang member 2: Oh damn man they got up on Rallo.

Gang member 3: Aw fuck! Rallo! Oh shit, them muthafuckas got him!

Big Ro ran over to me and snatched Rallo from my arms and pushed me away from him. Big Ro brought Rallo's dying body down on the floor and began cradling his body while sobbing in front of his gang. The rest of the gang dropped what they were doing and ran over to Big Ro and began crowding over him. Barton was trying her best to cut throw the circle and help Rallo. Big Ro cradling him and refusing anyone to come near wasn't helping. The whole thing was very chaotic as you can imagine; everybody talking at once, everybody trying to clamber to help.

Big Ro: Rallo! Rallo! Speak to me man! Say something damn it! Fuckin' say something!

Gang member 4: Fuck, Ro . . . Hey Ro man, you're holdin' him too hard, man! Let him go, get up off him!

Big Ro: Get the fuck off me! Get the fuck off me! Everyone back the fuck up! [_Hysterically_] Aw shit Rallo. Hey, don't leave me dawg, stay here. Yo wake your ass up! Wake the fuck up Rallo! Don't be fuckin' with me Rallo!

Gang member 3: Aw fuck man, Rallo's dead!

Gang member 5: Shut the fuck up nigga! He ain't dead!

Big Ro: Who the fuck said that?! He ain't fuckin' dead!

PFC Barton: He's not dead! I can save him! I can save him! Just make a hole so I can get through!

Gang member 1: The fuck? Who the fuck are you?!

PFC Barton: I'm a medic! I'm a doctor! I can save him!

Big Ro: You a medic?! Then help him out! Heal him! Hurry the fuck up!

PFC Barton: Okay, okay! Make some room let me see him . . .

Big Ro: So what's wrong with him?

Gang member 6: Ro, hey dawg, he's shot . . .

Big Ro: I know that nigga! I fuckin' know that! I meant where was he shot?! How bad?

PFC Barton: . . . It looks like he got hit in the lung . . . let me just inspect him further . . . just calm down Big Ro, do you want me to save your brother?

Big Ro: Yeah of course! Yeah I want you to fuckin' save him! I'll do anything, just please help him!

PFC Barton: [_Sternly_] Then do everything I say and I **will** save your brother.

Big Ro: You got it Doc! Just help him out!

PFC Barton: Okay, first thing, tell everyone to back up. He needs some air.

Big Ro: Y'all heard her! Everyone back the fuck up! Give Rallo some air!

PFC Barton: Okay . . . not enough light, does anybody have a flashlight or a lighter?

Blood member 2: Yeah I got one Doc!

PFC Barton: Okay give it Big Ro . . . now Ro, I want you to listen very carefully, I need to patch Rallo up to stop the bleeding, I need you to light the flame and hold it near his eyes and move it side to side. I want you to make sure that his eyes are following the flame. Do it for about 10 seconds and tell me if his eyes are moving or not.

Big Ro: Okay I gotta it! [_Lights the flame_] Come on Rallo look at the flame, I need you to look at the flame for me . . . don't move your head; just move your eyes . . .

SPC Fuentes: [_Entering the room with Deon and Bullock_] Floyd! Are you okay?! Barton, where are you guys?

Gang member 5: Who the fuck y'all niggas?!

CPL Strife: Everyone relax they're with us! They're part of our squad.

Big Ro: Hey Doc, his eyes are following the flame.

PFC Barton: Okay that's a good sign . . . I need a room to operate in; it has to be completely empty and sterile. You know where a room like that is?

Big Ro: Yeah I can take you to an empty room.

PFC Barton: Great, I need your help to carry him Ro, and I need as much med kits with me as possible. Fuentes, I think I may need your help with the operation.

SPC Fuentes: Okay, I'll do what I can.

Big Ro: Okay, let's hurry up and do this. Yo Pooch watch over everyone til I get back!

Pooch: Ya got it Ro!

Big Ro scooped up Rallo and led Barton and Carlina to where they could save Rallo, leaving our squad with the rest of The Berea Boys. Pooch, Big Ro's second-in-command I guess, started questioning us about how we got here. Bullock explained to the gang and they were initially angry at us that we didn't come in time to help everyone. We explained to them how the Russians had locked the entire city down and it was nigh impossible to go past the harbor because of fierce resistance.

We all waited to hear the news if Rallo made it. Some of the gang began walking around pacing the floors angry at the Russians for shooting Rallo, their friends and family. They began cursing the Russians and some even wanted to leave the building to go out to find and kill the Russians. My squad quickly poked holes in their plans. For the time being, we gave them advice on how better to defend themselves against the Russians; how to properly hold and fire their weapons, where to aim for, and how to effectively use cover. After about . . . an hour and 15 or an hour and an half maybe, Fuentes came in the room, we all stopped what we were doing.

SPC Fuentes: [_Smiling_] Private First Class Barton said that Rallo is stabilized. He'll live.

A wave of relief flooded the room; gang members were thanking God and breathing easier. I noticed Jacob sighed out of relief and he turned around and smiled at me.

Jacob: Thank you man, thanks for yer help.

* * *

**From the author: Hmm, I really didn't writing like this chapter all that much. Just because I feel that I rushed through it and added a lot of cliches. Well at least this chapter is out of the way. Thank you for reading.**


	6. Through the Wire

**From Kanuro5**: Well I had the most enjoyable holdiay experience with my relatives in Annapolis; and I am proud to say that I finished this chapter in two days! I want to let you all know that if you are continuing to read this, I appreciate your commitment to the story.

* * *

Waves of relief had set in when Barton and Big Ro entered the room. Their chests were stained in Rallo's blood and Barton's face was partially drained of its usual vanilla color; but she wore a triumphant smile on her face as she received applause from all the gang members present for her help in saving Rallo.

Pooch: [_Worried_] Hey Ro! How's lil' Rallo?

Big Ro: Barton here said he's stable. I got Nikki keepin' an eye on Rallo to alert us if anythang goes down. She got the bullets out and everythang.

Barton: I'm just glad we could save him.

Big Ro: Thanks to y'all. Now who are you exactly? Who's in charge?

CW2 Bullock: [_Standing up_] That would be me, son. I am Chief Warrant Officer Bullock; everyone calls me Chief. That over there is Corporal Strife, he's my second-in-command; then there's Specialist Kerrigan, Private Gallen, and I believe that you already know Specialist Fuentes and Private First Class Barton. And you are?

Big Ro: My name . . . my name is Roland Hutchinson. But ev'rybody calls me "Big Ro." I'm, I'm the Head, the Leader, the Chairman, whatever ya want to say, I'm in charge of the Berea Boys. And I wanna express my thanks to y'all dat y'all saved Rallo; and Deon and Jacob. I mean it, thank you. Now please tell us, why the hell are the Russians falling from the sky and killin' ev'rybody on the East Coast?

CW2 Bullock: [_Sighing_] Look son, we don't even know why they're doing this.

Gang member 1: [_Excitedly_] How the fuckin' hell y'all don't know? Y'all the goddam Army! Y'all muthafuckas supposed to know ev'rything.

CPL Strife: If we knew everything, then this invasion would have never fucking happened.

Gang member 1: Y'all done dropped the fuckin' ball on that.

SPC Fuentes: Look, that wasn't our fault! We have no idea how the Russians got into the U.S. Our satellites should have picked them up hundreds of miles away, but they didn't.

Man: Okay then, so why are the Russians shooting at every little thing. They're executing civilians on the street, us non-combatants. They are not even bothering with taking any prisoners. Why are they doing that?

SPC Fuentes: We don't know why either.

Gang member 1: [_Agitated_] Then wut da fuck do y'all muthafuckas know?!

Big Ro: Hey nigga, shut da fuck up! You ain't got the floor, the Chair didn't recognize yo ass! So Chief, the situation out there is dat bad?

CW2 Bullock: [_Shaking head_] Probably worse. Our radio frequencies are scrambled so we can't radio for help or receive any info. Plus, most of our units were ambushed and neutralized on contact.

Woman: That's right . . . where are the rest of y'all? Dey should be mo' of y'all, right?

SPC Kerrigan: My compan—my unit, was the quick reaction force to the invasion. We were totally unprepared for what was happening and we ran into numerous engagements and ambushes. A lot of my friends were killed or severely wounded. I'm all that's left from my squad.

PVT Gallen: The same goes for me and Strife. Our squad was ambushed and the Russians killed them in a matter of minutes.

Pooch: Sheeeeeeeit! Dem Russians done caught ev'ryone slippin'!

Gang member 2: Wait, waitaminute! Wut 'bout Westside? Da Russians got dat too? Dey git Westside?

Pooch: Hell yeah, wut about the rest of B-Mo' (Baltimore)? How much do the Russians control?

CW2 Bullock: Last time I remember they have most of North Baltimore, most of the Eastside here, and some parts of West Baltimore.

SPC Kerrigan: Yeah, we made a defensive line at the Inner Harbor which extends into I-83 at Druid Hill Park.

Everybody in the room started to groan and curse in frustration in light of the news. It wasn't the best news to here, especially in there condition; trapped in a neighborhood by a hostile enemy with no means of communications, and then to realize that half of the city is under enemy control.

Man: [_Shushing everyone_] Quiet, hey be quiet! Hey you soldiers, what was your mission? I mean, y'all had some kind mission or objective, right?

CW2 Bullock: Yeah we did, it varied since we're from different units. Kerrigan and Barton's units were meant to be a defensive action and stall the Russian advance at the Inner Harbor. While Strife's, Fuentes', and Gallen's unit was meant to rescue any civilians they came across.

Big Ro: . . . Hey ev'ryone, disperse for a quick minute! I gotta talk to the soldiers alone. [_To the squad_] Chief, Strife; let me holla at ya fo' a moment in private. Pooch, you come with.

So Big Ro had Bullock and I walk over to the corner of the room with him and Pooch, and eyed suspiciously at his gang that were still clustered together looking back at us. Eventually, the gang silently dispersed into doing whatever they were doing from before we came in; finally giving us some space.

CPL Strife: So what's up, Ro?

Big Ro: My bad y'all, it's just . . . you said that y'all mission was to rescue people, right?

CW2 Bullock: That's right.

Big Ro: And you sayin' that Southside is where all the soldiers and **poh**lice at, right?

CW2 Bullock: That's right.

Big Ro: Cause I be thinkin' that y'all still headin' on down there. Am I right?

CW2 Bullock: That's correct. We can't join the fight in our condition. So we're planning to regroup with the rest of the National Guard in South Baltimore. I was planning on leaving ten minutes after Barton was done helping your brother.

Pooch: So y'all fixin' to head all the way down to the Southside wit Russians all around us?

CPL Strife: That's the gist of it, yeah.

Pooch: Sheeeeeeeit! God be wit y'all if y'all tryin' to do dat.

CW2 Bullock: I was hoping that y'all join us.

Big Ro: What?

CW2 Bullock: Our duty as Guardsmen is to protect all civilians from any clear and present dangers. We'll escort you and everyone in this building out to South Baltimore.

Pooch: [_Smiling_] Hold up now, dat sounds like a game plan to me, Ro! We use da soldiers to git us da fuck outta here!

Big Ro: [_Slightly disappointed at Bullock_] Really? That, that's your plan?

CW2 Bullock: It is. What's wrong with it?

Big Ro: [_Slowly_] You really think that you can get all 43 of us out of here?

CW2 Bullock: Hell yeah, it's simple; we can—

Big Ro: [_With fierce, unrelenting eyes and in a serious tone_] Be straight up with me Bullock. I hold these peoples' lives in my hands; my crew, my friends, my brother; all of them depend on me. So I need to know. No bullshit. Can you honestly say, without a shadow of a doubt, that you can successfully bring all of us to safety?

Bullock took a lengthy pause as his mouth remained open, trying to find words to justify his previous assurance, yet his silence verified Ro's question. I knew the answer from the very beginning and so did Ro, it would be impossible to do what Bullock suggested; there could be no way that we could escort that many people to safety. Since Bullock didn't have the stomach to tell Ro the truth, I voiced my opinion for him.

CPL Strife: [_Bluntly_] No, we cannot.

CW2 Bullock: Corporal! I—

CPL Strife: What, Chief? What do you want me to say? I'm not going to lie to the guy; especially when his choice affects everyone in this building. I'm just telling the straight up truth. [_To Big Ro_] I'm sorry Ro, but we can't. This building is already surrounded by the Russians and if we try to lead a mass, Exodus, then we'll just be cut down to pieces. We are also deep behind enemy lines; if we make contact with the Russians, and we'll most likely will, then how the hell are 6 Guardsmen going to effectively protect 43 civilians. It just cannot be done, if we do, a lot of people are going to die.

CW2 Bullock: [_To Strife, slightly bitter_] And if they remain here, they're going to die regardless, Corporal.

CPL Strife: I'm well aware of that, Chief. This is just a bad situation . . . we may however, be able to take a few people, maybe three to five.

CW2 Bullock: In that case who should we take?

CPL Strife: Ro, Pooch—you two coming?

Pooch turned his head to Ro, wanting to see what he was going to say first. Ro, with eyes wrought with turmoil, looked back at his gang and began to play with his hands in deep contemplation. It was not an easy decision, deciding who was to go and who was to stay; especially if we was thinking if he wanted to go. Regardless of what options popped up in his mind, I could tell that he knew that he must make a decision that would benefit his brother before anything else.

Big Ro: Naw, I ain't goin' wit y'all.

CW2 Bullock: You sure? Why not?

Big Ro: [_Solemnly_] I grew up two corners 'way from here and be I'll damned if I leave Berea. I ain't runnin' from no one or nobody. Not from other niggas, not from the **poh**lice, and not from the fuckin' Russians. Imma Berea Boy! I ain't leavin' fo' shit. And I'm damn sure that I ain't leavin' my brother.

Pooch: Hell yeah, Imma stayin' down here too!

CPL Strife: How are y'all going to do deal with the Russians?

Pooch: [_Excitedly_] Sheeeeeeeit! We got dis buildin' down on lock! And we got control on all da cornahs that we can see 'round dis bitch! If we see the Russians approachin', den we startin' blastin' on da muthafuckas, man. And if dey try to raid dis place like da Five-O, sheeeeeeeit, we'll be ready fo' dey ass!

CPL Strife: They're not going to raid this building; they're not going to risk it.

Big Ro: Wha'cha talkin' 'bout?

CPL Strife: I served in Afghanistan; when we entered a city that was controlled by a horde of insurgents, we often engaged with them in severe house-to-house fighting. Anytime the insurgents holed up inside of a house, and they would give us a good amount of causalities; we just simply blow the house to kingdom come.

Big Ro: [_Surprised_] Oh shit, just like that?

CPL Strife: [_Bluntly_] Just like that. We wouldn't waste American lives, by foolishly continue to go inside an insurgent-held house. We would call the engineers to use C4 explosives, such as Bangalore torpedoes to be throw in the house to blow it to bits. If we couldn't use explosives, then we called in our tanks and they would fill the houses with holes until it collapsed on top of itself. Both techniques crushed and buried the insurgents within the rubble.

Big Ro: [_Despairingly_] So that's what they're goin' to do to us, huh? Fuckin' bury us alive and hope the goddamn rubble kills us?

CPL Strife: That's right, if you guys have been fighting back hard as much as you say; then that'll most likely be their plan of attack. They're probably planning on doing it pretty soon.

Big Ro: [_To himself, chuckling darkly_] Goddamn, we can't catch a muthafuckin' break.

Pooch: Man, yo Ro, I'm not feelin' stayin' here anymo', no wut I mean? Maybe we should bounce, yo?

Big Ro: Naw Pooch, my answer still stands. I'm not leavin' fo' shit. Besides, I knew I was gonna die fightin' one day, I'm just damn surprised that I lasted this long. [_To Bullock and Strife_] I'm sorry y'all, I ain't goin nowhere. I ain't runnin' from them fuckas! Imma least go down by draggin' 'least one of them wit me.

Pooch: Yeah, Imma fight back too and kill dem muthafuckas, man!

CW2 Bullock: [_Disappointed_] . . . So be it.

Big Ro: Hold up now, I'm not goin'; but I'll ask ev'ryone else here if they want to go wit ya. Pooch, head on downstairs and bring up ev'rybody, they need to hear it too.

At the end of the order, Pooch scrambled to rush downstairs to alert everybody, as Ro walked back over to his gang and told everyone to gather round. In the next minute, Pooch came back up and brought about 15 people who were not affiliated with the gang. All of the civilians circled around us with confused and concerned faces, wary of what further news we were to bring.

Big Ro: Everyone shut the fuck up and listen! Go on Bullock.

CW2 Bullock: [_Awkwardly_] Listen up, um, I hate to break the news to some of you. But we will have to be leaving soon. Our mission is to go down to South Baltimore with the rest of the Army. Now, we may be able to take a few of you with us. [_Quickly glancing over to Strife, then back at the crowd_] We, uh, will not be able to take all of you, but we may take one to five people with us. Big Ro and Pooch have personally elected to stay here in this building. So, um, who would want to join us?

A dead, confused silence was all that we received in reply; only matched by wandering eyes and turning heads to see who would be the first in the crowd to step forward to join us. For a good 20 seconds, no one step forward, only because they would rather take their chances with Big Ro rather than with us. Out of the crowd of 43 snubbing civilians, only one made his way forward to us. He was a young man who was 20 years old; he had a low fade haircut and stood at a towering 6'4". He was moderately light skinned and had a crescent moon-shaped birthmark under his left ear. Judging by his clothes, he wasn't affiliated with the gang; he wore a long-sleeved white dress shirt along with solid black jeans. He also had a black AK-74 strapped over his shoulder and a Russian Makarov pistol holstered on his right side.

Young Man: I, I want to go with you.

CW2 Bullock: Alright then, what's your name, son?

Young Man: Jonathan Seldon. Just call me Jonathan.

CW2 Bullock: Anyone else wants to come with us?

Now you would think that after one brave soul would step forward, everyone else would follow suit? But nope. Not here. Everyone still kept their distance from us. If anything, they started staring at Jonathan like he was some sort of damn leper. Then another person came forward, this time it was Deon, the gang member who we ran into on the street where Rallo got shot and the one that led us to building in the first. Now Deon was about 18 years old, stood at 5'10", and sported some very short dreadlocks; he was wearing a crimson polo shirt along with camo cargo shorts.

Deon: [_To the squad_] Hey y'all, if it's all the same wit you, I wanna hitch along with ya.

Jacob: [_Stunned_] Deon . . . what? Ya goin' wit dem? Why? What about us?

Big Ro: [_Stepping forward to the front of the crowd_] Jacob. Be cool, dawg. If Deon wants to go, then let him go. He has his choice, along wit ev'ryone here.

Deon: Thanks Ro. Hey man, not to seem ungrateful or anythang, but you gotta know that I'm not leaving the gang. I'm just—

Big Ro: [_Shaking his hand_] It's cool D, I 'preciate all the work ya put in over the years. Be safe D.

Jacob: [_Handing over his Uzi along with its magazines_] Yo Deon, take this; ya may need it mo' than me.

And that was it. We only got two guys to join up with us; everyone else stuck by Big Ro and chose to defend the building. The two guys went around saying their goodbyes and receiving their good lucks, when one gang member spotted something in the distance with his Dragonuv sniper rifle.

Gang member sniper: Hey Big Ro! I got one Russian approachin' the building!

Big Ro: [_Running to the sniper_] How far along is he?

Gang member sniper: 'Bout a whole cornah down, at the intersection. He's slowly walkin' . . . wait, he got ten mo' soldiers wit him. They're gonna attack again.

SPC Kerrigan: I think now will be a great time to get on outta here.

CW2 Bullock: Yeah, copy that. [_To Big Ro_] Hey Ro, is there a back way out of the building?

Big Ro: There ain't. Just the way y'all came in. There was, but a fuckin' RPG blew it to rubble.

CW2 Bullock: And let me guess, that squad of soldiers coming down the corner is on the same street where we initially came in, right?

Big Ro: That's right.

Gang member sniper: Dey got mo' comin', dey have 'bout 25 mo comin' dis way. Hey Ro, permission to snipe dey ass?

Big Ro: No, man. Wait 'til they get close.

CW2 Bullock: Ro, we need to get out of here now, but we need your help.

Big Ro: Wha'cha want us to do?

CW2 Bullock: [_Lightly Stammering_] Right, uh, we need, um, some sort of suppressing fire. Yeah that's right; we need your men to get to open fire from the windows and to pin the Russians down for us. When you have them suppress, we run out the door and escape through the street, which we, um, came in from.

Big Ro: A'ight; yo Rich, Quinn, Smoke—grab some choppas and prepare-

The low din of a lone rifle shot shattered the relative silence outside; following by the sound of a heavy thud. The rifle shot came from a Russian from outside the building, possibly 100 – 150 meters away. At the edge of my peripheral vision, I could see something pink just floating in the middle of the air. I turned my head to witness the strange phenomena, only to see that the pink bubble was actually a low, pink mist. The mist itself was pretty intoxicating to look at from close up. For a brief second, the mist began to expand itself into the perfect circle, although it was small, about the size of a basketball; in my perspective it was perfectly spherical. But then, the mist slowly began to evaporate into nothingness; the lovely pink that you would find on flowers faded into obscurity, never to be seen again.

In that brief second, I wondered where the pink mist came from; it was just too foreign to pop out of nowhere. Once the mist had faded away, so too did the illusion. Not too far from where the pink mist came from, laid the body of the Berea Boy sniper; he was lying face up on the ground, with an entry shot between his eyes, and a gaping hole in the back of his head which leaked out a quickly growing puddle of blood with the sponge-like contents of his brain spewed out on the floor. The pink mist, the perfect head shot.

Several women screamed into the air and scooted away from the body, the men jumped back in surprise, while several gang members ran to his body to futilely see if he was alive. I looked to my right and Barton was already on her stomach hidden in cover, she didn't rush forward, she knew he was dead before he hit the floor.

One gang member, sick and tired of the Russians killing his friends, picked up an RPK light machine gun and wildly started firing outside the window, damning the Russians for killing his friend. Other vengeful members of the gang followed suit and started pumping full-auto rounds into the approaching Russians; forgetting everything we taught them about picking their shots.

Big Ro: [_Angrily_] Hold up! Hold up! Stop! Stop firin'! The soldiers ain't left yet!

But they kept up the fire, they didn't give a damn anymore. The Russians were in their iron and scoped sights and they intend to cash in their deaths. The Russians intended to do the same. Next thing I heard, were hundreds of enemy 5.45x39 rounds bouncing and cracking off the inside of the room. Everyone jumped down to the prone position and found whatever cover they could get; some rounds were even penetrating through the brick wall of the apartment building.

CPL Strife: [_Shouting over the crackling of bullets_] Chief, we gotta out of here now, we can't wait! I'm not going to die because of a fucking ricochet!

CW2 Bullock: You're right! Everybody move out, Jonathan, Deon; stick close to us! Big Ro, we're leaving now!

Big Ro: A'ight! Be safe!

Our squad stood up and we ran out of that bullet-magnet for a room in a running crouch. We ran down the stairs so fast I'm pretty sure our feet only touched four of the steps. Once we made it to the ground floor, we ran towards the door and waited patiently until Deon could get it fully open.

PVT Gallen: What's the plan, Chief? Same as before?

CW2 Bullock: Pretty much, we go out two at a time. Kerrigan, Gallen; you two go first until you made the turn, you be our base of fire. Now listen Jonathan, you'll move out between Corporal Strife here and Private Barton in the second rush. And Deon, you'll move with me and Specialist Fuentes in the last rush.

Deon: Man, I must have been fuckin' crazy, wantin' to do this same shit again! . . . I got the door open for y'all.

CW2 Bullock: Okay then. Kerrigan, Gallen—y'all ready?

SPC Kerrigan: We're ready to move.

CW2 Bullock: Go!

Kerrigan and Gallen sprinted diagonally on the 55 meter left turn, passing by the bodies of those unfortunate who didn't make it. A few incoming rounds put a stop to their sprint, the Russians; about 150 meters away from them began to open fire on the two. Kerrigan and Gallen, about 25 meters from the corner, hunkered down behind an abandoned car and returned fire. In the midst of reloading, Kerrigan waved over to us to keep moving.

SPC Kerrigan: [_Calling out_] Go! We'll cover you!

PFC Barton: Strife, should we go?

CPL Strife: Yeah we are. [_To Jonathan_] Okay listen up, when we move, try to be spaced out. And remember, don't stop for shit, just keep running.

Jonathan: You got it Corporal.

CPL Strife: Alright let's go!

The three of us made that arduous sprint through that fucking wall of lead. The booming shots of enemy rifle from far away was ever so present on that run; as were the bullets; zipping past my head by a few meters. Jonathan began to outrun me by a few meters, but he jumped backwards and shouted "Whoa!" when a red tracer round from a machine gun flew one foot past his face. I swear if he was one just one degree fast, his face would have been blasted off. I told him to keep moving and he picked up his pace in a heartbeat. Those Russians paratroopers, they were some of the most accurate soldiers that I had ever seen. Hitting a moving target a couple of hundred meters away is a little tricky, but those Russians made it seem so easy. They would either hit you, or come within a meter shy of hitting you.

But I digress; the three of us ran past Kerrigan and Gallen and we safely made it to the other side. I peeked out of the corner and I waved to Bullock to move up. The three of them made their dash across the street with slugs and bullets nipping at their feet. I joined with Kerrigan and Gallen in the return fire and started squeezing off shots at the slowly advancing Russians. One of the Russians had an RPG and fired it at the 5th floor, exactly where the gang was. The explosion was deafening as a large grey plume of smoke suddenly shot out from the destroyed room. Following the explosion, Kerrigan and Gallen took the time to run out from behind the car and made it safely around the corner; along with Bullock, Fuentes, and Deon.

My eyes stayed on the smoking room, hoping to hear some sort of "We're okay" come from the room. My hopes were answered by the sound of automatic weapon fire still coming from the building; the Berea Boys were still in the fight.

CW2 Bullock: [_Breathing heavily_] Everyone alright?

CPL Strife: Looks like we're all good here, Chief.

Deon: [_Looking back at the apartment building_] Yeah, we good I guess.

CPL Strife: Hey, buck up Deon, they're going to be alright.

Deon: Yeah, I hope so.

Jonathan: So where do we go?

SPC Fuentes: [_Walking ahead_] Anywhere where the Russians ain't. I'm on point.

CW2 Bullock: She's right, we just got to move.

Jonathan: Okay . . . so we're moving now. What's the plan?

CW2 Bullock: We head south; rejoin with the rest of the Guard.

Deon: Hold up, we can't go just yet.

CPL Strife: Well why the hell not?

Deon: We gotta get my girl, Khadijah.

CPL Strife: [_Scoffing_] Are you kidding me?

PVT Gallen: Where is she at?

Deon: Her house is one block from the cemetery.

SPC Kerrigan: Cemetery, that's up north. Basically that's back the way we done came!

PVT Gallen: Filled with Russians too.

CPL Strife: How come she didn't come down with you?

Deon: By the time the Russians attacked, they already locked down her block, she's trapped and she cain't escape.

CPL Strife: [_Annoyed_] And you expect us to waltz right on back there and rescue her?

Deon: Damn right! Y'all the fuckin' National Guard, y'all supposed to help civilians.

CPL Strife: Chief, I'm not sure about this. I don't think we should go.

Deon: [_Angrily_] The fuck you say?! Why the hell not?

CPL Strife: Cause it's an unnecessary risk; if we go back into heavy Russian territory to find one girl instead of heading straight down south, that choice will endanger all of our lives!

PFC Barton: So you would let her die?

CPL Strife: If she isn't already dead now.

Deon: She's not dead, I've been texting her for the past 30 minutes. She's alive! And I promised her, that I would save her. That's why I fuckin' left the buildin', and my crew. And if y'all ratchet muthafuckas won't help me, then I'll get her back myself! Bullock—I mean, Chief, please c'mon and help me out. She needs help and I **will** get her back regardless of what any of you say.

Bullock bowed his head, zoning out all noise to allow himself to think out each option. Whether to abandon Khadijah or to save her. Now I want you all to listen, I did not want to abandon Khadijah; I really didn't. If opportunities were different, I would have no problem going back to rescue her. But you have to understand our situation; we were low on ammo, deep behind enemy lines, with each passing hour the Russians were getting better organized, and if we went even deeper into Russian territory there would be a greater chance where we may have been killed. You must understand that my reasons were for the benefit of the squad and for the civilians. Sure I would be damning one civilian to save two civilians; or for the entire group, damn one to save eight—but those are all better odds. Anyway, that's my justification for what I said, and I explained it to Deon later; take my justification for what you will—for Bullock already made his decision.

CW2 Bullock: Strife's right about it being more dangerous. [_Staring at Strife_] But if one life holds no value, then none are of worth. I understand what you're trying to say, but she's still a person that needs help. And I'm damn sure that if some people had the chance to save your family in Manhattan, that you would wish that they would try everything in their power to save them. You're a soldier, Strife, you know the Soldier's Creed: "No One Gets Left Behind." So we're moving out, once we go through this street, we'll make a U-turn and head straight up north. Everyone, let's move out.

I nodded my head in compliance and moved out with the squad. I wouldn't have made that decision, but Bullock was in charge so I didn't say anything. But for what Bullock said, "If one life holds no value, then none are of worth," it did get me thinking about my family's situation in New York. If they could get out then I would pray to God that they'll to find a way out. Bullock wasn't the greatest leader, but every now and then, he would truly inspire you to go out of your way to do great things. 


End file.
